


Life is What You Make of It

by Moon_Rose (Moonrose91)



Series: Life Under the Mountain for Bilbo Baggins [1]
Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Smaug, Animal Death in Chapter Four, Arranged Marriage, Betrayal of Trust, Consummation Witnessed, Deaf Bilbo, Dub-con participation in public sex acts, Dwarves don't explain things, F/M, Gen, Happy Ending is demanded by the Prompt, I make up stuff about Hobbits, Lack of Communication, M/M, Making up things about Dwarves too, Mildly Dubious Consent, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, PTSD, Panic Attack, Please Proceed With Caution, Political Auditory Voyeurism, Political Marriage, Prompt Fic, Rating bumped due to future Graphic Violence and animal injury, Secretive Dwarves are TOO Secretive, Tags Will Also Be in Chapter Titles and/or Summaries, Tags to be added as needed, Voyeurism not fully explained to the someone who is already panicking, food hoarding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-07 19:21:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 40
Words: 62,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonrose91/pseuds/Moon_Rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A poison is infecting the land around the Lonely Mountain.</p><p>Greenwood has been infected into Mirkwood and Dale’s farm lands can no longer fully support Dale, let alone the Dwarves of Erebor.</p><p>In hopes of easing the burden on the land, their eyes turn to the West, where their allies in the Blue Mountains have informed them of a peaceful and fertile land called the Shire.</p><p>Thrain sends his best representative, Balin, to the Shire to offer an alliance with the Hobbits that reside there, in hopes of opening a trade route between them.</p><p>However, the residents of the Shire are hesitant to offer such an alliance with the Dwarves, when Thráin offers a political marriage between his son, the Crown Prince Thorin Oakenshield, and one of the Shire’s choosing to be a proper representative of the Shire. They have only one question; would Thráin take offense if the Hobbit in question was not…perfect.</p><p>His response is 'no', and thus one Bilbo Baggins was sent to Erebor to be married to Heir Apparent Thorin Oakenshield.</p><p>But no one really <em>expected</em> Bilbo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Decisions Made

**Author's Note:**

> I changed a few things, you know, beyond the most obvious things. I made Bilbo a bit younger. I altered canon drastically. For those who are wondering, Thorin still earned the name “Oakenshield” the same way and Thrór died and they never recovered the Dwarven Ring and Thorin had to go back to Erebor with the deaths of his grandfather and brother hanging on him.
> 
> Thorin is a bit younger as well, but not by much.
> 
> The things I have horribly changed in Bilbo’s past are a secret, for the most part. Thorin is going to be the Thorin from the movie more than the book, mostly because book!Thorin is older and book!Thorin makes me laugh.
> 
> And that’s not what I am going for in this.
> 
> *hands over the handkerchiefs and quilts now*
> 
> Written for [This Prompt](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/5821.html?thread=12541629).
> 
> I am not sorry. (Actually, I kind of am.)
> 
> *piles up the handkerchiefs on a table for readers along with more quilts and pillows*
> 
> You might want to fortify yourselves. Because this is probably going to be so very, very bad.

Balin sighed softly as he considered the Thain of the Shire.

He could understand their unease, he truly could. These people were not warriors, while all of those in his guard had seen many battles. The, failed, battle that had lost them one prince and had the other take up a Mantle to go with his name, had nearly driven Thráin mad in his grief, had it not been for Erebor, though most of his healing had come from Prince Kíli, who was so like Prince Frerin that it physically hurt some days.

Balin could understand their nervousness.

“I may have a solution, but first I must send a message to my king. Could I trouble you for more time for myself and my men?” Balin questioned and the Thain smiled warmly.

“Not at all! Please, I can understand why you have come, and terrible business it is, but we’re quiet folk, and you can understand our nervousness over sending such a large supply of our food so far East,” the Thain responded and Balin nodded in agreement.

The Shire was so far from Erebor, from Dale, and Balin was sure other alliances were being made elsewhere, but this was the most important.

The Blue Mountains could always, omitting two years, buy surplus from the Shire. They had the fertile land to help support a distant kingdom.

But being so far away had disadvantages and Balin could only hope that his idea would work or they would only get one shipment from the Shire.

And it would not be a big one.

*~*~*

Thráin frowned as he read the letter that had come with Balin’s raven and tapped it against the desk.

The letter suggested a marriage union between one of the denizens of the Shire and Thorin.

Fíli was already spoken for (and his courting was going well), Thorin had been stuck in a limbo and was free, and Kíli was too young. The outlying problems were given to Thráin and he considered.

There were trade agreements that he had set up with the others and he contemplated the political implications of offering a marriage contract with the Shire when he offered it to no others, even if some of the possibilities were outlined by Balin. He thought over the trade agreements and admitted that they were closer, and were not as important.

And they had no qualms about being paid in gold for the food.

A few of the trade agreements had been smoothed out by _Dale_ offering a marriage agreement, and Thráin considered it all. He thought it all through, considered everything, and turned to the doorway.

He stepped out and focused on the page boy, one of many who sat outside his chambers. “Find Prince Thorin and tell him I need to see him,” he ordered and the page boy took off.

Thráin nodded a bit and immediately offered Balin’s raven some dried meat.

Hopefully Thorin would not prove too difficult.

(As always, Thráin was proven wrong by his stubborn son.)

*~*~*

The resulting argument took two days and Dís coming forward to hit her elder brother, once, on the head.

And then Thráin asked if Thorin would prefer a female or a male.

It amused him greatly that Thorin turned so very red at the question while Dís laughed at him until she couldn’t breathe.

*~*~*

_Balin,_

_Thorin has agreed to such a marriage. I believe you know his preference._

_I trust you to pick someone who will be good for Thorin._

_Thráin son of Thrór, King Under the Mountain_

*~*~*

When Balin relayed his king’s words to the Thain, though in a far more diplomatic manner, the Thain took a moment of thought for the idea. He frowned for a moment and then nodded. “We Shire-folk rarely like leaving our borders. But there might be a few. For a Prince it would be best to see if there’s a lad from one of the three Main Families who will do it. Closest thing to nobility, let alone royalty, that we’ve got in the Shire,” the Thain explained.

Balin smiled warmly. “We can only hope,” he responded.

*~*~*

Balin kept to himself how hopeless this all seemed. Very few Hobbits wished to leave the Shire, even the most adventuresome of them.

Even less wished to marry the Thorin he described, which Balin was, mostly, honest but kept some of the worst of it out. Thorin's pride was a large part of it.

Balin was sure he was not quite pleased with the fact he wasn't going to be marrying a Dwarf. He was going to be even less pleased when he learned that Hobbits were peaceful and few were warriors.

And it didn't help that, despite the fact that those who were agreeable on both parts, in that they wanted to leave and were willing to enter a political marriage, Balin did not, and could not, see them as good partners for Thorin.

They would not balance him and would only encourage his worst aspects.

As they walked up something called ‘Bagshot Row’, the Thain suddenly paused and turned to Balin. “I don’t know if this next Hobbit, Bilbo Baggins is his name, would be an acceptable…consort for Prince Thorin. However, from what you tell me of Dwarf aging and what I know of Hobbit aging, the likelihood of one out living the other is quite low, in Bilbo’s case. He’s forty-one, so he’s got about sixty years left on life, maybe some more, and you mentioned that Thorin was nearing two-hundred,” the Thain explained.

Balin frowned slightly. “What is wrong with him?” he questioned.

The Thain actually flinched. “Oh, if Belladonna was still alive to have heard that question, she would have come after you with her pig-sticker, Dwarf or no,” he stated and he sighed.

“Belladonna?” Balin questioned and the Thain nodded with a small, sad, smile.

“We’re going to visit my nephew. My deaf nephew, specifically. Belladonna died some time ago. And she was very proficient in a boar spear. She called it her pig-sticker. Bilbo didn’t keep it up, but…well, he used it. Once,” the Thain explained and he stared up.

“Deafness is not a reason for disqualification,” Balin answered, but he was already dreading this and hoped, desperately, that Bilbo was as poor of a choice as the rest.

*~*~*

There was only a faint clinking, almost chiming, sound that seemed to echo throughout the smial as the Thain tugged on the doorbell cord. The Thain then seemed to settle back on his heels to wait and Balin took the time to admire the craftsmanship.

“Dwarves made that,” Balin stated and the Thain nodded in agreement.

“Bungo, Bilbo’s father, gave three Dwarves run of his smial for the day, explaining what he needed. A doorbell used to be up there too, but when it broke, no one could fix it, so Bilbo just carried it inside,” the Thain responded.

They waited a few more moments before the Thain pulled the cord again, once more a soft chiming and clinking could be heard in a gentle echo until Balin could no longer hear it. This was followed by an angry pounding somewhere and the Thain chuckled. “Ah, that’s Bilbo yelling at me. He probably thinks I’m a Sackville-Baggins.”

Before Balin could ask, the door was wrenched open and he found himself staring down, slightly, at a Hobbit with honey curls and glaring hazel eyes. And then they widened and his hand flickered before his eyes flickered to Balin.

He then smiled at Balin and gave a small bow.

“Bilbo Baggins, at your service.”

The voice was thick and muffled. It stuck in some places, but it was decipherable.

When he stood, Balin smiled. “Balin, at yours,” he answered, noticing the Thain’s hands move in unfamiliar gestures.

Bilbo smiled and immediately stepped to the side, eyes locked on them both. “Please, won’t you join me for tea?” he questioned, and Balin gave a nod and a smile.

*~*~*

Bilbo was the perfect host.

He was also polite, well-mannered, and when a female Hobbit that Balin sincerely loathed by the end of the third minute in her company by the name of Lobelia Sackville-Baggins showed up, Bilbo proved that he was, most likely, _the_ politest Hobbit in existence, despite the fact she insulted him the entire time.

He was also the perfect person to balance Thorin, to make him better.

Balin thanked Bilbo for his hospitality and walked out with the Thain. “That is all of them?” Balin questioned softly.

“Yes. Most are married by this time,” the Thain answered and Balin nodded.

That night, Balin’s raven left the Shire again at a blistering speed, carrying a small letter.

A week later, bedraggled and exhausted, the raven returned with a smaller slip of paper, obviously ready to fall over.

*~*~*

_He shall suffice._

*~*~*

The next morning, Balin returned to Bag-End with the Thain.

And Bilbo agreed to travel to Erebor and marry Prince Thorin, for the Shire.

*~*~*

Bilbo Baggins would never tell anyone that the Thain said it all resided with him, that of all the possible Hobbits of the Shire, Balin only returned to Bilbo.

He would also never tell anyone of how he cried that night, realizing that he would have to leave the last connection to his parents behind, most likely to never return again.

That he would have to leave his father's quilting and garden, along with his mother's books and maps, and the bell-pull system that had crystals hanging from the archways and windows, all connected through sturdy Dwarven craftsmanship.

How he had realized that he would need to find someone to care for it, even if he never set eyes on it again.

And when the dawn came, it was dreary and bleak.

No, he never told a soul any of that.

(But Balin guessed.)


	2. Leaving the Shire

On the day the dawn came, dreary and bleak, Balin, son of Fundin, went to Bag-End and asked, through a bound notebook he had bought for pittance (the craftsmanship was beautiful, and Balin was tempted to add these creations to the list of trade, but decided he could instead put down a list and coin for it for when caravans would come through) if Bilbo would need help packing for the journey at the end of the week.

Eyes red rimmed and blood-shot, dark circles under his eyes, Bilbo Baggins still offered a smile and nodded. "Thank you," he mumbled out and Balin smiled, giving a small head bow back in return.

And then they began to focus on what they could take now and what could be brought later, though Balin didn't tell Bilbo that.

(Mostly because he wasn't sure if he could keep the promise of more things coming at a later date.)

The packing went quickly, with Balin approving of the various herbal remedies that Bilbo had kept up, and showing him how to pack the vials in the special bag for them so they wouldn't break, unless undo strain was put to them.

There were a few things that were sentimental over essential, but Balin knew they could fit easily in Bilbo's pack. One was a hand-written journal on herbalism across all of Arda, careful drawings highlighting what parts of the plant were safe, what was not, and how to use it all.

The writing was not in Bilbo's hand, however, though it was obviously well loved. There was also a handmade map, in book form, with different writing on it, which was surprisingly accurate.

(It also had a large fold out map in the back of it with blank spots where whoever it was had not gone, including what west of the Sea, but Balin felt that it was something private, as this was something that had Bilbo's writing on it.)

There was a quilt Bilbo had wrapped both books up in, where the patches alternated between the styles of three people, which he settled on the bottom of the pack before he packed his clothes. Over the clothes he packed a thick, warm, coat that was lined with white wolf fur (which included a hood) so everything beneath was as protected against the elements as Bilbo could make it.

Buckled onto the back pack was a bedroll. Not a particularly thick one, but it would do.

Even though it had Balin already mentally doing the numbers so that he could get Bilbo a sheepskin lined one that would keep him warm to wrap up in the one the Hobbit already owned while they were in Bree.

And so it was, on the second Sterday of Afterlithe, by Shire Reckoning, that Balin, son of Fundin, with the guards that he had brought with him, left the Shire with one Bilbo Baggins.

*~*~*

When the group was out of sight, the Sackville-Bagginses rushed up to Bag-End, in hopes of claiming it for their own, finally, only to find it fiercely guarded by Holman Greenhand.

They flew into rage when they discovered that Holman Greehand had standing orders to take care of the gardens and air the place out once a week, the estate of Bag-End paying him weekly as always with the Thain himself watching over Bilbo’s personal finances, the family properties in the hands of other Baggins cousins.

It was the last order Bilbo gave to his gardener and it was one Holman would follow and make his apprentice, and distant cousin, Hamfast Gamgee follow as well.

(Besides, Holman held out hope that Bilbo would return. One day.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow...that was really short. I am sorry.
> 
> (It just...ended. I almost made it continue, but decided that it would be better to just move on.)
> 
> Onto Erebor!


	3. From Rolling Hills to Deathly Plains (Injury to a Pony)

Bilbo sneezed twice as he was lead over to a mealy brown pony in the field next to the Party Field, realizing he was going to have to _ride_ and immediatly felt a surge of pity for the pony.

The poor thing who was saddled (Bilbo managed to keep the chuckle to himself as the, very poor, joke crossed his mind) with him was a stocky sort, compact in a way that suggested great strength in the small frame. The head was broad across the brow, and the nostrils wide. Bilbo can't help it, even as he rubs his nose with a handkerchief, to scratch the pony's cheek as he looks the pony over, eyes drawn to the ears, which are wide set, though small, and seem to be constantly on alert.

Bilbo smiled warmly as the pony, with intelligent eyes that reminded him of the toad's he tried to catch when he was a lad, tossed his (Bilbo thought the pony was a he, but was not sure) head, turning his head slightly as well, a rush of air going past Bilbo's cheek and ruffling his hair. Bilbo felt himself laugh, the sound tickling in his chest, smiling more at the way the pony seemed to be happy with him.

Bilbo let his hand trail down the long neck to the saddle and he noticed that the reins were not there. He frowned a bit and turned, jumping back into his mount's side (and causing the pony to twitch, but not actually move) in suprise to find that the head of the guards, the one with wild black hair (and beard, both with a few thick stripes of gray in them) and an ax in the forehead, was standing right behind him.

He knew he hadn't shrieked, his throat didn't hurt, but he was panting, could feel the quick rise and fall of his chest and the way his heart seemed to thrum through his extremeties. He blinked a bit when the guard carefully placed a hand on Bilbo's shoulder and then pat his head, like he was trying to soothe a skittish animal.

Bilbo gave a shakey smile and blinked in surprise when the guard carefully turned him to the saddle. He then showed Bilbo how to hold onto the saddle and then held up his fingers for three and tapped the saddle. Bilbo nodded, hesitantly and the guard carefully shifted, tapping his leg, the right one, and making a motion, as if throwing the leg over the saddle.

Bilbo nodded hesitantly and then the guard was kneeling down slightly and cupping his hands for Bilbo's left foot.

He thought the idea unsanitary, but did as asked and felt a tap on his ankle.

 _One_.

Another.

 _Two_.

And...

On the third tap, Bilbo jumped slightly, and managed to get onto the pony's back without dropping like a sack of potatoes.

The dear, patient, creature merely tossed his head briefly before the guard was helping get Bilbo situaited and even showed him how to properly hold the reins. Only when Bilbo was situaited on the back of his mount did the guard mount up on his own pony, a chestnut with a white mane and tail, which was taller and more heavyset than Bilbo's own pony.

This pony also had silken feathers on the lower legs, towards the back of them specifically, and over all seemed like a gentle, kind, sort.

The guard carefully showed him how to turn the pony and Bilbo followed, carefully and smiled at the quick nod the guard gave him before he looked up to find that the group was waiting for them, three guards holding pack ponies that matched their riding ponies.

Bilbo felt his face warm with embaressment and he nearly startled off his pony's back when the guard rode past him, with a hand motion for Bilbo to follow.

He followed quickly after the guard, eyes flickering through the ponies that were all various shades of dun, or grey, the guards all smiling behind their beards. Bilbo couldn't stop himself from nervously flattening his pony's mane as they began to ride forward at Balin's direction.

To his left, Bilbo tried to ignore the fact the wild looking guard was handed a boar spear by one of the other guards before he dropped back slightly and came up on Bilbo's right side instead, the guard who handed Bifur the boar spear keeping to Bilbo's left.

Bilbo, hesitantly, dared to glance back, surprised by the discovery of three guards behind while the remaining three, and Balin, remained in the front, essentially placing him in a protective circle.

It was slightly unnerving to be treated like he was  _special_.

(Of course, Bilbo would muse later when the guard who seemed invested in his well-being for whatever reason handed him some cram that was true now, wasn't it?)

*~*~*

They passed through Bree with little fuss, staying over only one night before moving on, Bilbo gaining another layer for his bedroll from Balin.

He suspected Balin had bought it while they were in the dank little town, but he did not ask, for if he did not ask, he would not have to feel guilty about it.

(Bilbo also learned his pony’s name was Gentleheart while they were in Bree, which Bilbo felt fit the gelding who had to put up with such a graceless rider.)

They were four days out of Bree when the building rain storm hit.

The flicker of light above the trees told Bilbo it was building into a thunder storm and he scrunched up slightly, hoping that he would be able to conserve some body warmth, as no water-proofed cloaks were available within the group when Bilbo suddenly found himself covered with one, a roughened hand tugging the cloak more over his bag while Bilbo fumbled slightly to pull it securely over his shoulders.

Only then did he look over to find the head guard (for the rest took their orders from him, so Bilbo knew this to be the boar spear wielding Dwarf’s position in the group) was now with his own cloak missing. Bilbo felt his eyes widen and his lips part, briefly, to ask _why_  when he shut his mouth, feeling the soft reverberation in his teeth that told him he shut his mouth too hard, again.

So, instead of asking _why_ , Bilbo just offered the sincerest smile he could and recieved a small smile in return that Bilbo almost missed before he looked forward, almost pleadingly at Balin. The older Dwarf with his curling slightly white beard, merely gave a motion of his head that meant he just winked at Bilbo and then turned back around.

Before Bilbo could make a complaint, either mentally or vocally, he felt as if something shook in his chest while the sky flickered madly above, and his mount began to toss his head nervously.

Bilbo pat the gelding’s neck and swallowed down his own nervousness.

The next time Gentleheart startled, however, Bilbo could find nothing in the sky or in the darkness that could have startled the pony and began to grow nervous once more.

*~*~*

_Why did he give me his cloak?_

The wording is blunt and not very polite, though the hand that writes it is steady and even a bit artistic, the mark of a scholar.

It amuses Balin that _this_ is what Bilbo is asking about.

Not why Bifur keeps so close to Bilbo, even now that they’ve made camp at a destroyed farm house, or why Bifur seems so focused on Bilbo’s well-being.

_Bifur takes your well-being to heart is all._

Balin’s own writing is similar to Bilbo’s, in that it is scholarly, more for fine writing over practical use, as it were.

With charcoal sticks, much of the effect is lost.

Bilbo’s eyebrow raises at the answer and Balin points behind Bilbo to where Bifur sits, caring for his boar spear.

Bilbo looks back forward quickly and writes, _No one told me his name._

_Apologies. We shall work on that when we are in a safe place to rest._

Bilbo frowned at the writing and another eyebrow raise.

When Balin shook his head, Bilbo considered and then gave a nod in agreement. He then handed the book back to Balin and carefully opened his pack to pull out a small book that Balin hadn’t seen him put in. However, from his position Balin could also see two boxes, one that could hold a pipe and the other that could hold practically anything, which he had not seen Bilbo slip in.

He watched Bilbo open the book and was surprised to find it was a calendar.

He was about to gain Bilbo’s attention, question it, when he noticed Bilbo carefully tapping something out, frowning a bit.

It was then that Balin realized that it was a Hobbit calendar, recognizing one of the names on top that the Thain had mentioned.

Balin let him be.

They all had to take comfort from what they could on the road.

*~*~*

The next morning, as they rode across the plains that would take them the long way (Elves lay the short way) around to the Misty Mountains, a warg’s hunting howl echoed through the air. Balin turned his pony, noticing that Bilbo already knew they were in danger.

It was in his face.

Bifur already was in a protective stance, the ponies having long been trained not to fear the smell of Orc or Warg.

And that was when the first few Wargs rushed over a rock outcropping.

There was no hesitation as one of the rear guards immediately began to fire arrows, downing the Wargs quickly.

But it was only the beginning of their problems, as more riderless Wargs, followed by Orcs on Wargs began to swarm over and Bifur immediately twisted slightly to push at Bilbo, the Hobbit quickly understanding.

Soon, Bilbo was off the pony’s back, narrowly avoiding an orc arrow, though it sunk into the flank of one of the pack ponies, which caused the poor creature to shriek in agony and rush forward, blood staining his coat and the grass.

The Wargs didn’t twitch, letting the poor creature go, and Balin cursed the fact that they had intelligence that rivaled any Dwarf’s.

Were they instinctual, they would go after the wounded pony and leave them in peace.

No, this only added up to one thing; they were being hunted.

And Balin didn’t like the implications behind that realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo's pony is based of the Exmoor pony (so, sadly, no Myrtle this time), but the rest are based off of Highland ponies.
> 
> Both seemed very Dwarvish to me.
> 
> (Originally this was going to go all the way to Erebor, but then it decided that, "No, we're gonna get attacked by Orcs and Wargs!" and I went..."Flip it muses!" *le sigh*)
> 
> So, Chapter Four is coming, hopefully, right on the heels of this one.


	4. From Bloodied Plains to Hidden Dale (Warnings in Summary)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gory Battle Scene so...
> 
> Graphic Death  
> Injury to Animals  
> Graphic Animal Death (kind-of; we see a dead body that is not that graphically described)  
> Graphic Blood  
> Not so Graphic PTSD induced Flashback that leads to Berserker Rage (Um...sort-of, kind-of, maybe? Definitely PTSD flashback though)  
> Past Not-Very-Graphic Death in Flashback  
> Vomiting
> 
> Flashback Italicized

When Bilbo sees the hunched, raging, vicious, things with foam across their mouths for the first time, it doesn’t register for a moment that they seem only slightly bigger than the White Wolves that attacked the Shire near thirty years ago with the Orcs.

It is only when he sees the Orcs that he realizes that they could be a generation, or three, away from these things.

And that makes fear curdle in his gut, and the cold rise up in his body.

It takes Bifur pushing him to get him out of arrow range ( _a Hobbit arrow buries itself into the eye of the White Wolf bearing down on him, causing it to collapse to the snow_ ) and Bilbo finds himself blinking as he is on the ground, in the grass, having been shoved there.

Blood is soaking the grass, black and red alike and he slips slightly when he tries to get up, get away.

He finally manages to twist to his feet and finds himself on the balls of his feet and the tips of his fingers, staring right at where Bifur has been downed. He has a sword that is not his, nor any Dwarf’s, and his boar spear to the side.

_The cold is biting and the snow is stained red._

_It almost reminds Bilbo of the syrup-snow his mother makes every winter, though this year that treat has been far rarer than in previous years. But the White Wolf is bearing down on his mother and her pig-sticker is nowhere near her hand._

_But it is near his._

_The weight is off_ , because it isn’t his mother’s, it is Bifur’s, and Bilbo doesn’t hesitate to have it slice through the Warg’s neck.

He turns as he feels something hot against his back and he barely manages to slice the spear into the Warg’s jaws. Bilbo steps back, stumbles slightly, but that doesn’t stop him before shifting it to jab it sharply into the Warg’s jugular before swinging up to slice at the Orc’s unguarded face, black blood _flying and staining the snow amongst the rest of its brethren._

 _There is so much of it, but Bilbo doesn’t hesitate, remembering the way his mother moved and swings the pig-sticker around, driving the sharp end into_ the Orc’s chest.

Bilbo swings down, cutting through leather effortlessly, for this can go through wild boar skin.

Maybe if the Orc wore metal, he would have had a chance, but the stench of intestine fills Bilbo’s noise and he rips the boar spear back out, turning enough to slam the sharpened part into the Warg’s neck.

It jerks and spasms slightly before Bilbo is wrenching the boar spear out and driving the blade into the jugular of an Orc and _this time the black blood staining Bilbo instead of the snow, across the face, slipping down his neck, and he doesn’t care._

_They are not getting mother!_

_The_ Warg’s chest gives under the blade and Bilbo drives the spear into the side before _wrenching it out of the White Wolf’s rib cage, the blade catching slightly on bone, but when Bilbo turns, there is nothing._

_He stumbles forward, to where his mother is lying on the ground._

_There is red a lot of red, and he feels sore, but still he drags her pig-sticker back to her._

_She hates it when he borrows it and he drops down next to her._

_The cold is soaking into his clothes and there is a horrible stench in the air, thick and clotting and sickening and he wants nothing more than to get mother and run away, but she’s in no condition to do so._

_The red blood is everywhere, and Bilbo carefully pulls the pig-sticker up so he can use it easily before he shuffles forward slightly, so he is closer._

_Because any minute now, there will be…_

Bilbo starts badly when he feels something rough catch slightly in his hair and he tries to swing the bore spear down, but something is keeping it there and, oh by the Life-Bringer, he’s trapped, he’s…

Bilbo blinks to find himself staring at Bifur, who is keeping him from swinging the boar spear, his hand carding through the Bilbo’s hair.

Bilbo lets out a shaky breath and carefully releases his grip on the spear, Bifur taking it away before Bilbo looked around.

One of the pack ponies looked like a warg had gotten to it and Bilbo twisted away from the sight, startling to find Gentleheart standing next to him, mostly unharmed.

There was a shallow gash along his left foreleg, but, for the most part, unharmed.

Gentleheart bumped his nose against Bilbo’s forehead before he turned to look back, causing Bilbo to twist slightly (Bifur letting his hand drop from hair to shoulder and Bilbo is relieved to notice, only now, that his bag is safe on his back) to find Elves on great horses there.

One is dark haired and lordly above all, eyes watchful, yet welcoming.

To them, at least.

He also looks invigorated, which really, Bilbo didn’t need to know.

The Elf practically _hums_ with power as he strides forward, and then it hits Bilbo who this is.

The name slips out of his lips, rumbling lowly in his chest before it vibrates against his lips and he feels Bifur’s hand tighten slightly on his shoulder, possibly in surprise, at the fact Bilbo can speak.

But he only says two words.

“Lord Elrond.”

*~*~*

Lord Elrond offers them shelter and healing. They get the packs off the downed pack pony, and those injured are stripped of their saddles and packs as well.

Gentleheart is among them and already being led off to the side, while Bilbo is discovered to have been injured in his ‘memory trap’, as his father had called it long ago. One of Lord Elrond’s sons is bandaging it while Bifur keeps close as he always does, having already cared for his boar spear.

Bilbo flinches when the thick scent of burning Orc reaches his nose and it is only now that Bilbo retches.

It is probably only through long years of practice that enable the son of Lord Elrond to avoid getting retched _on_.

The retching isn’t even in the direction of Bifur, but the Dwarf’s hand snaps out to catch Bilbo from toppling over as exhaustion hits him (his muscles _burn_ from wielding something and his hands _ache_ , but he was _useful_ , so that had to mean something; he wasn’t just unexpected dead weight who brought even more with him instead of leaving it all behind, so it is all good, in the end) and he’s then eased onto a pony, possibly one of the few not injured in the fight, with a comforting weight at his back.

It takes him a while to realize it is Bifur, but they are then moving out and Bilbo realizes where they are going.

He knows it before they make their way through the trees, or even get to the distant hidden forest.

But it takes him a while to speak it.

Again his chest faintly vibrates.

This time, however, it starts from behind his sternum and goes up his throat, then back down again, before rushing back up, into his mouth, and spreading across his tongue like honey still attached to the bee.

“Rivendell."

He thinks he might have instinctively timed it, as he manages to get the word past unwilling lips just as they top the rise to see the Last Homely House East of the Sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fight scene at the beginning wasn't meant to be confusing, but it kind-of felt that way while I was writing it.
> 
> (Probably because I was half-asleep at my keyboard)
> 
> But yeah, Bilbo kind-of just got thrown into his worst nightmare, and he thought he had put those demons to rest a long time ago and...nope. (So berserker rage due to Flashback melding with present and him flipping out and here's to hoping he didn't accidentally hurt anyone in the group...aka, no, he didn't, they know the signs of someone in the middle of a slight issue, they're a warrior race, it can happen).
> 
> And yes, that is what I messed with in canon. Belladonna died first. I am sorry. I would have warned, but that would have spoiled.
> 
> Also, due to the sheer number of warnings I put into this chapter alone, no, this chapter doesn't get to go all the way to Erebor either.
> 
> *whimpers*
> 
> I want to get Bilbo to Erebor and have that first meeting with Thorin!
> 
> (Which will be just awful.)
> 
> *sighs*
> 
> But, no, we're going to meander around Rivendell now apparently.
> 
> *sighs again*
> 
> Oh well.
> 
> (Next chapter might be a while folks, and the only reason these two chapters updated so fast is because I realized that the battle was getting a paragraph of warnings, so I just split it. Otherwise all of this would have been Chapter Three.)
> 
> (Also...I should not make notes when I am really sleepy. They are confusing.)


	5. Longing for Home

“And Arwen…Gr…th…” Elladan was explaining, but he kept shifting his head, cutting his words off or slurring them badly in his excitement, and Bilbo could barely understand most of what Elladan was saying.

Bilbo kept his eyes on Elladan in the fruitless endeavor to understand what the Elf was saying while Lord Elrond cared for his side.

Bifur, as always, was standing close by.

(Bilbo tried not to think about what his life would be like after they got to Erebor and he possibly loses Bifur, because he doesn’t want to think about possibilities. Possibilities depress him far more than realities, especially when he is so keenly feeling all his other losses at this moment.)

And, because Bilbo had known Elladan (and Elrohir, for to find one without the other was like seeing a night without stars) for most of Bilbo’s life (though visits were rare and cherished things), he did not hesitate to reach out and twist Elladan’s face to his.

Gently.

“Look here,” Bilbo murmured out and Elladan ducked his head apologetically.

“…beards mus…hassle,” Elladan stated and, even though he was looking at Bilbo, he still missed some of the words.

Lip-reading wasn’t an exact skill, but it was enough of a one and Bilbo gave a small nod in agreement, refusing to let go of Elladan’s face, or he would keep looking away again. “How…” Elladan began but Bilbo suddenly dropped his hand and tried to flinch away, only to be stopped by, not only by Elrohir, but Bifur as well.

Elrond gave a sigh (an exaggerated one, as Bilbo knew that it was for his benefit) and gave Bilbo a sharp look.

 _“Don’t move,”_ he gestured sharply and Bilbo stilled, though he tried to keep relaxed as he felt the wet cloth that stung and bit at his injury returned.

He felt his skin twitching and Bifur tightened his grip, slightly, on Bilbo’s shoulder.

He was grateful for that and he shot Elladan a glare who lifted his hands up in surrender. “No…fau…” he tried to explain, but his nervousness had tightened his lips and reading them was a lost cause.

Bilbo felt himself sigh and he closed his eyes in irritation as he gestured out a simple, _“I understand.”_

He felt an apologetic touch on his cheek that caused him to open his eyes and focus on Elladan once more. The Elf ducked his head apologetically and Bilbo tugged his hair gently before he closed his eyes once more, shutting out the world.

He would rather not be trying to think up appropriate conversational pieces at this time, but he still manages to gesture out a simple, _“sorry,”_ followed by a, _“tired.”_

Elladan seems to understand and he feels a hand pet his hair.

And when nothing catches on rough calluses, he knows it must be Elladan.

When all is said and done, Bilbo is sent off to rooms near the Dwarves, Bifur following at his right shoulder.

*~*~*

That night, Bilbo spent supper with the rest of the Dwarves with two fingers at his temple, massaging slowly as he tried to get the sudden headache to retreat.

Eventually, their merrymaking, though deaf to it though he was, began to make it worse and he politely retreated to the room given to him by Lord Elrond, which was situated between Balin’s and Bifur’s rooms.

Bifur had followed the moment Bilbo had stood one hand to his aching head (on the far-side in hopes of hiding it from the Dwarves) and had shadowed Bilbo all the way to his room.

Bilbo had smiled his thanks before he disappeared within and retreated to where the wide windows were situated to allow the cool night air to filter through.

He couldn’t help the deep breath he took as he stared out across Rivendell, smiling a bit at the way the moonlight touched the summer greenery of the place.

But while he was surrounded by plants, none of it was home.

Bilbo swallowed thickly as his eyes slowly shifted Westward, trying desperately to see the Shire, despite that being impossible.

He was slowly, but surely, taking deeper breaths, even though he knew it was useless.

Even though he knew he wouldn’t smell his father’s herbs in the window boxes, or the flowers that decorate the fence line. He wouldn’t smell the midsummer harvest, nor the distant summer storms that would be rolling over the Shire now, he still took deeper and deeper breaths.

He would not smell home and his deep breaths slowly turned into sobs that ripped through his chest and made his throat hurt. He didn’t hesitate to bury his head in his arms as he continued to sob, hoping against hope that they were muffled enough that no one would come.

He didn’t think he could handle that right now.

*~*~*

The next morning, if anyone commented on the dark circles under his reddened eyes and his slightly blotchy skin, he didn’t notice.

And if Bifur was extra gentle or Balin was more engaging, well, that was just because they were surrounded by Elves, and Dwarves, on principle, disliked Elves as a whole.

Even if that meant going out into the garden to keep him company.

But his hands longed to bury themselves in the dirt. To feel the thick, healthy soil coat his hands and the smell of it to curl up his nose as he carefully settled some bushes along that bare spot he had been meaning to fill after having to pull out dead bushes. Of the dog roses that worked very nicely on the other side of the smial, growing up over the Hill itself while, on the other side, the blood red roses his father had planted for his mother, once upon a time, would bloom.

For, while the gardens within Rivendell were lovely, to him, it was like being a man dying of thirst in the middle of the sea, only not as fatal.

When Lord Elrond said they could move safely (for Bilbo had been the least injured), two weeks had passed, putting them in the middle of Wedmath, were this the Shire.

Bilbo felt his heart twist at that, but he had no more tears to shed over the loss of his home.

And deep down, though he dearly loved, and would miss, Lord Elrond and his family, he was glad to be going.

Because, for the first time in his life, Rivendell had brought no peace, only a harsh and daily reminder of all he was losing.

Yes, he was glad to leave this place.

(But he was not glad to leave his friends.)


	6. Goblins Aren't the Only Dangers of the Misty Mountains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vomiting in this chapter.

Bilbo frowned slightly as they took a lower pass through the Misty Mountains, instead of the High Pass.

It made sense, as they had ponies and ponies could not take the route Bilbo's mother had marked out on her many maps of the very mountains. The route she marked as best, for it was harder for things to rush at you from on high when you _were_ on high.

There was a secondary note to _Beware of Stone Giants_ , but there was no description of what they looked like or how large they were. She had never been one for that, usually waving it off as, ‘you’ll know it when you see it,’ the only exceptions to that rule being Orcs, Wargs, and Goblins.

However, the middle path had warning signs dotting it of places that were susceptible to rockslides, mudslides, Goblin raids, and Orc packs.

The Middle Path was fraught with danger, in Bilbo’s opinion, and it was only because Bilbo trusted the Dwarves (for some reason and despite the fact that, besides Bifur and Balin, they ignored and belittled him) that he didn’t try to protest.

Instead, he focused on the maps within the book and making tiny, not so minor, corrections from where landmarks had changed over the years.

Though considering the last time his parents had been through here was shortly ( _very_ shortly) before his birth, there were far more changed than he had been expecting. He frowned at the sheer amount of changes, of whole moved stones or new places that hadn’t existed all that time ago, and decided that Stone Giants were _not_ things he wanted to be near, or meet, as they must be huge.

Unless extremely friendly, and then he might consider getting to know one.

He looked over when he felt something touch his shoulder, only to find Gentleheart.

He frowned a bit and carefully picked up the rope, only to find it frayed. He immediately put the book back into the quilt through careful managing so it would be packed up tight once more, and focused entirely on the gelding. However, the gelding seemed undisturbed, merely curious and possibly a little hungry.

Bilbo he looked around, shouldering his pack before he pat Gentleheart’s neck. Only then did he stand up, carefully collecting her lead rope (which had definitely been roughly cut with _something_ if the feel of the fray was anything to go off of) as he moved. He began to lead him over when the gelding locked his legs and lowered his head, obviously refusing to go back.

Bilbo turned to the camp and the gelding followed willingly, but he refused to return to the other ponies.

He frowned and glanced back at the ponies, counting them.

Six for the guards, Gentleheart, Bifur’s, Balin’s and…

He felt his heart still.

The three pack ponies were missing.

And they had definitely been there shortly after Bifur had left with one of the guards to scout ahead.

That, with Gentleheart’s refusal to get any closer to where the ponies where and the frayed state of the lead rope had Bilbo clutching desperately at the lead. He didn’t have time to shout when Gentleheart suddenly swerved to the side, rearing up slightly and showing his teeth while he was grabbed by someone at least twice his size, if the hand that slammed over the bottom half of his face was any indicator of such a thing.

But surprise and fear didn’t stop him from biting down on the hand, even as he was carted off into the shadows of the Middle Path, struggling desperately to get free even as the coopery taste of blood filled his mouth.

He didn’t stop until a sharp pain to his head had his world spinning and then a bag was being shoved over his head.

After that, with his bearings lost, he became desperate. It took another hit to the head before he lost his grip on consciousness, what little light that managed to make it through the bag leaving completely.

*~*~*

Bilbo awoke with a wince, curling up slightly on his side, eyes squeezing back shut as the agony raced through his head, making stars spark across his eyelids.

He was on grass, for it was pressed against his cheek, itching it mercilessly, though there was also a lot of pain, making it near impossible for him to get his bearings.

He couldn’t stop the moan that vibrated behind his nose as it registered that he felt ropes digging into his wrists, and on his legs, from just below the knees to the ankles. He turned his face toward the ground, a sickness building up in his throat, causing him to gag slightly.

Before he could either actually get sick or get rid of the feeling, there was a pressure on his chest and then he was on his back, on his arms.

His eyes snapped open and he found himself staring up at a Man.

A very dirty, slightly smelly, Man whose face was half bathed in shadow.

Bilbo wasn’t sure what the Man was saying, but he knew, even if he could hear, or see, it he would not answer anyway.

Instead he just kept looking up, his eyes drifting past the Man light by a campfire he could not see, swallowing convulsively as the nausea built. His eyes drifted past to the stars and he nearly slammed his head against the ground.

He would have, except that he was already in pain there and had no desire to add more.

Suddenly, he was being hauled up and Bilbo couldn’t stop himself from throwing up all over the Man.

He was thrown away and he hit his shoulder first and he knows he screamed then.

Mostly because his throat hurt from the inside after he managed to get back to himself through all the pain.

It helped that there was another Man glaring down at him, a very good indicator of screaming as, normally, those who stole people off the various roads, passes, and paths didn't want to be found.

Bilbo just closed his eyes and turned away from the Man.

He didn't wish to try his luck if he threw up on another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To my knowledge the only way through the Misty Mountains is through the High Pass, aka, the way Thorin and Company went.
> 
> However, artistic liberties dictate in this world of sunshine and rainbows (except when it is not) that there would be more paths. The High Pass is for travelers on foot (or, apparently, a pair of married Hobbits, one heavily pregnant. For the love of Eru, Belladonna, why is Bungo the one with sense?).
> 
> The Middle Path is for those on horse and/or pony, or have a lot of pack animals.
> 
> The Eastern Road is for wagons and goes the long way around, is heavily patrolled by Dwarf, Man, and Elf alike, and is used for caravans. 
> 
> That, or they can go the even _longer_ way around, down through Rohan to Minas Tirith, back _up_ through Rohan, through the Gap, and then slowly meander their way back up to the Great East Road before heading to the Blue Mountains.
> 
>  _Anyway_ since there was no Smaug and such, the roads are in very good condition, since trade is heavy with Erebor, the Greatest of all the Seven Dwarf Kingdoms (and I made seven again because I could, even though two are controlled by Longbeards; no seriously, who thought that up? Oh...right...Tolkien. Never mind. *whistles a bit and tugs nervously on collar*)
> 
> ANYWHO!!!!
> 
> Yeah. Middle Path, sucks. You should not go, except when you must.
> 
> (Why couldn't they go through Rohan? Stubborn Dwarves.)
> 
> So, ta-da, I made up ways through the Misty Mountains.
> 
> I feel accomplished.
> 
> Also, suddenly being attacked, kind-of, by bandits. Point of bandits, right?


	7. Moments of Clarity (Mention of Slavery. Oh, and Death. Actual Death, not Mentioned Death)

They moved shortly after that, Bilbo slung over a shoulder, which did nothing to help with the pain spreading through his body, or his nausea.

He personally thought that the one who was carrying him was very lucky that he didn't get sick all over his back. They had moved quickly, sometimes picking up speed as if something was hunting them, though Bilbo didn't know what. He thinks he might have whimpered as he was jostled along and then they were climbing up a side path that wasn't really a path.

Too much jostling, however, had him drifting in a haze of pain until he was suddenly dropped.

The air was forced from his lungs and he began to cough, even as pain raced up his arms, collecting in his shoulder and head. He turned swiftly to his uninjured side and began to gag slightly, trying his best to get up onto his knees, though all he ended up doing was hitting his forehead against the rock floor of the cave and dry heaving. He let out a strangled cry as he was forced up onto his knees and found himself staring straight up at a different Man.

The Man who was gripping his hair tightly and forcing him to look up was...dirty and slightly smelly. He still couldn't tell features, a fire causing deep shadows to hide most of his mouth and half his face.

He looked like something out of a nightmare.

The mouth moved, but with the poor lighting, Bilbo couldn’t tell what he said. Bilbo stared up at him, clenching his jaw and his eyes scrunched shut in pain as the Man shook him.

After a few more minutes of useless questioning (though they obviously didn’t know that), he was dropped.

He let out a scream of agony as he landed onto his injured shoulder. He was half blinded with the agony and a boot connecting with his ribcage caused him to flip him onto his back, and arms, which just made the pain spark across his shoulder, causing him to gasp in agony instead, unable to produce any sound.

At least, he didn't  _think_ he was producing any sound.

When he finally managed to get his bearings, he forced himself onto his uninjured side and curled up tight. He buried his face into the ground, each deep breath causing the dirt to float up. It makes him sneeze and cough for a while before he opens his eyes to realize that he’s facing a wall.

He coughs and sniffs slightly before he carefully begins to wiggle around, ignoring the pain that shoots through his body until he can see out into the cave that the Men are using for a base of some sorts.

Everything they’ve stolen is piled around. Boxes and crates of what can only be food is one corner, near the men, but across the cave are piles of furs in front of a rack of swords.

His eyes darted back to the Men on occasion before he continued to look around, finding supplies that were obviously stolen all around.

He also saw a cage, which he did not want to know why it existed.

More to the point, he didn’t want to know if they would throw him _into_ it before they began to move out, since Bilbo doubted they would be staying for much longer, despite the stockpile.

It would probably help if he could _hear_ what they were saying, if they were saying anything at all, or could at least spot a clue as to _why_ they wanted him at _all_.

He was worried that it could be about Erebor instead of the possibly fact that they had never seen someone like him before.

He knew, beyond Bree, Hobbits were rare. He knew that, beyond Bree, Hobbits hadn’t been seen in great numbers since their Wandering Days, dark and hard times that haunted the nightmares of all Hobbits who learned of those times.

He carefully huddled against the ground, trying to keep calm and _think_. If it was about Erebor, things would get…bad.

An underestimation, to be sure, but the other option was he was captured to be shoved into a cage and sold. In his opinion, however, that was a far better option than being captured because of Erebor related reasons.

 _That_  would just mean that they saw him as an oddity, not that someone was spying on them and had sent out an order to capture him.

He was about to shift to look around again when he saw something in the shadows outside the cave.

And then an arrow flew through the air and sunk into the leaders.

The group immediately stood, drawing weapons, but a gray figure strode forth, smacking his staff into the head of one of the Men as the Dwarves swarmed in, Bifur in the lead, his boar spear cutting through a Man, even as one of the Men began to run for Bilbo.

The boar spear flew and slammed into his side as Bifur rushed forward, the smell of death and bowels filling the air. Bilbo shivered and curled up slightly, trying to get smaller, when a form was there, carefully hovering over him. He flinched before he looked up to find Bifur there, his bloody boar spear in hand.

One hand came to rest on his shoulder and Bilbo felt pained cry leave him, unable to bite it down.

Bifur immediately shifted his hand and then focused on untying him.

Bilbo shivered and let out a sigh of relief as his arms were released, Bifur gentle as he was helped into a seated position, gentle hands rubbing his arms once the boar spear was settled against the cave wall. He cried out again as his shoulder was jostled and he turned into Bifur, seeking the comfort there.

A hand rested on his leg and he jerked back, terror sending his heart rate spiking, eyes snapping open only to find an elderly man in gray leaning there, leaning on a great staff.

Bilbo felt his eyes narrow slightly before it melted into a smile. “Gandalf,” he managed to slur out, relaxing fully against Bifur.

He hurt, there were dead bodies all around the cave, and if he so much as _breathed_ , his shoulder felt like it was shattered into a million pieces, but he felt safe.

Bilbo didn’t try to dwell too much on that.

And then Gandalf settled his staff against his shoulder and began to gesture. _“Bilbo, your shoulder has been dislocated. Bifur is going to hold you still. And then you can explain, in better detail than the Dwarves, why you are with_ this _particular group.”_

Bilbo gave a short nod and braced himself against Bifur as the Dwarf began to hold him carefully, yet tightly.

Gandalf reached out, holding onto his arm and Bilbo gasped in agony when Gandalf’s fingers skittered along the edge of his shoulder. He felt warmth infuse his shoulder and suddenly there was a grinding within his shoulder and the _scream_ that was ripped from his throat probably hurt Bifur’s ears, but he was blinded with pain.

He was shivering and shuddering, and someone was releasing his legs, rubbing them. He felt himself being moved and he tried to fight, but someone was running a comforting hand through his hair and he turned into it, relishing in the comfort he hadn’t had since his father’s death.

He was being settled on the ground and another cry was ripped from his throat as his shoulder was jostled, again.

This time, it knocked him senseless and he slipped into darkness.


	8. The Harmless Name

When Bilbo came to, he felt warm and as if he was cushioned on something soft.

His hand tightened briefly on something warm and soft, yet unfamiliar before it released, a faint ache covering his entire body, though it seemed to have collected in his shoulder. He shifted a bit, stretching experimentally, and he let out a whine of pain as it jostled his shoulder, though everything felt distant and muzzy.

A hand carefully rested over his and he slowly opened his eyes to find Balin there.

He tried to smile, but it must not have worked, because the white haired Dwarf just reached out with his free hand and ran it through Bilbo’s hair. Bilbo turned into the comfort hesitantly, still feeling so very disconnected from his body, and his eyes slid closed again.

There was a gentle tap on his hand and he opened his eyes again, frowning slightly, only to see Balin frowning a bit at him, shaking his head slightly.

Bilbo nodded hesitantly and he let his eyes drift as Balin continued to hover to find he was near a fire, while in a different cave, for he could not smell death clinging to the air.

He was lying on furs, with more furs over him, though he was snug within his bedroll between all of that, and Gandalf was at the entrance that was light by the sun. He was smoking his pipe while Bifur carved.

He could not see the other guards and he turned to Balin again, focusing on him.

Bilbo tapped Balin’s hand and gestured as if the sun was rising and setting, as best as he could.

Balin frowned and then held up three fingers. “Three days?” Bilbo managed to slur out, or he thought he did, but Balin nodded a bit, suggesting he was right.

His mind scrambled for his mental calendar, but he couldn’t think of it and he began to try and force his way up. He began to fight Balin as best as he could, despite the fact his arm with the shoulder that had previously been dislocated was in a sling, as he tried to get up, to find his pack.

He _needed_ his calendar, _needed_ to know what was happening in the Shire to continue to carry him to Erebor. He fought against Balin, his chest heaving and his throat _burning_ , as he scrabbled against Balin with his free hand when his calendar book was suddenly pressed into his chest. He stared down at it, stilling, before he looked up at Bifur.

Bifur who looked at him with such understanding and he then carefully took it from Bifur.

He opened it, finding his tiny mark he had made that evening at camp and began to tap out the days quietly, glancing up when he felt Balin shift next to him.

Balin just nodded a little and ran his hand through Bilbo’s hair before Bilbo looked back down. He carefully pulled the carved pencil out of the where he had hidden it in the oversized binding and marked the day on the calendar.

It was nearing the end of Wedmath, meaning that the festivals would be starting soon.

There was also various birthdays he had missed and people (the Sackville-Bagginses) who would be trying to break into Bag-End. He traced the calendar before he put the pencil back and closed it before he began to look, nervously, for his bag.

And Bifur didn’t hesitate to settle it next to him.

Bilbo startled at that and then smiled warmly at Bifur.

For the first time since truly knowing Bifur, the Dwarf smiled back in such a way that it wasn’t hidden by his beard.

Only then did Bilbo allow Balin to carefully aid him in lying back down, his hand tightening slightly on the calendar. Balin smiled at him and carefully ran a hand through his hair, slowly easing Bilbo back into sleep.

*~*~*

“What did he bring with him, besides clothes and that calendar?” Tharkûn questioned and Bifur glowered at the Wizard.

He didn’t like the questions.

Or the fishing.

Especially not in regards to Bilbo.

Bilbo who knew him by his “harmless” name. The _lie_.

The spider name, in Bifur’s opinion.

He did not, particularly, trust Tharkûn. He did not like the Wizard and he did not think that he ever have anyone’s best interests in mind if they conflicted with what was best for Middle Earth.

 _“Don’t tell him,”_ Bifur growled and Tharkûn sighed.

“Bifur, if you do not tell me, Bilbo _will_ ,” Tharkûn retorted and Bifur snorted before he began to comfortingly pet Bilbo’s hand which clutched desperately to the book.

He stirred slightly, but not enough to awaken, so Bifur continued with the petting of Bilbo's hand.

It reminded him, in that fuzzy way he had since the ax to the head, of the times long gone by, when Bofur used to get sick so often, coughing and shivering when he was a little Dwarfling.

It was like he absorbed all the possible sickness that could come to the home into his body for all of his childhood, for sickness never touched Bombur, or anyone else for that matter, though Bofur’s father coughed from the mine dust of the deep iron mines within Erebor.

Their family had come two generations back, as part of the alliance with the Blue Mountains and Erebor was all Bifur, or Bofur or Bombur, had known.

Bombur who was head of the _Royal_ kitchens, the perfect position for a father of three, almost four (last Bifur had been there at least) and his wife with a warm laugh and warmer heart.

Bofur with his mining and toy making, but no one to call his own though his eyes occasionally travelled to the silversmith who never looked up from his work, so Bofur never tried.

And then Bifur, who was in the unneeded, till now, position of Head of the Consort’s Guard or, in this case, Heir Apparent’s Consort’s Guards. Who spent most of his time sending guards to the ground, and snarling at them for underestimating him just because he had an ax to the head.

Who spent his off time with Bofur, if their times coincided, and carved toys or ate with Bombur’s slowly growing family.

Who spent his days being treated like he was stupid.

And while it was his duty to protect Bilbo (at least till they got him to Erebor; he wasn’t sure what would happen _after_ ), Bilbo never treated him as lesser. Had startled at the ax to the head, and everything, but had otherwise treated him as someone worthy.

Someone not…broken, though Bofur flew into a rage when Bifur admitted that private thought.

But then, Bifur did the same to Bilbo and it showed in the way he reacted to Bifur.

It was like watching after Bofur all over again and it made Bifur feel whole.

And he wasn’t going to let Tharkûn hurt Bilbo.

For that was _all_ Tharkûn did; harm those that he cared for.

It wasn’t intentional, of that Bifur was sure, but he did it anyway. So focused on his goal, moving always ever onward towards some distant goal he shared with none, Bifur found that he wasn’t willing to let Bilbo be caught at the crossroads.

 _“That’s because he doesn’t know you,_ _Tharkûn. He doesn’t know your destructive ways,”_ Bifur retorted, ignoring Balin’s sharp reproach behind him.

Tharkûn hummed a bit as he seemed to contemplate the smoke he blew into the air, Bifur frowning at the way it twined into a dragon. “He packed with very little input from myself,” Balin responded instead and Bifur grumbled lowly before he slowly stood up with a quick pat to Bilbo’s hand.

He then picked up his boar spear and pointed at two guards, snarling out, _“Go relieve the two on the north perimeter.”_

They scattered and he stood against the entrance, resting against the stone. He could hear Tharkûn talking with Balin, and hoped Balin’s good sense would win out against Tharkûn’s meddling.

He had doubts however.

For when Tharkûn was set on something, he would weasel it out.

One way, or another.


	9. Two Gifts (Mentions Death)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Death mentioned in this is from horse accidents and the ancient, once legal (now illegal) practice of mercy killings, usually employed on the battlefield when a soldier was slowly, and painfully, dying.
> 
> Just to warn you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got...kind-of rambly?
> 
> It refused to write until I wrote it like this, so I just let it go.

Bilbo woke for bursts and moments in a way that worried Balin, though Tharkûn reassured them that there was no permanent damage done to Bilbo, despite the two hard hits he had taken to the head.

He was still woozy, though the broth that they strained out from the stew they cooked for their lunch and then their dinner was something Bilbo could keep down, though he remained embarrassed that he had to be assisted outside to take care of business, something Bifur could understand, though Balin thought both were being ridiculous about it.

He said as much to Bifur, but with a small smile in his beard, which had Tharkûn laughing in the low way of his that betrayed how amused he truly was for any who could recognize his laughs, which Bifur could through an unfortunately long acquaintanceship.

*~*~*~*

The next morning dawned bright and Bifur managed to get more broth into Bilbo before it was decided that Bilbo couldn't ride alone.

He was still quite...out of it. He was reacting, of course, but it would take a while, not to mention his shoulder and Bifur  _really_  didn't trust the rest of the guard with the future Consort as they had already proven to be incompetent.

The King would have their beards, most likely, if Bifur didn't get to them first once they reached the Mountain.

Debearding a Dwarf on the road was just too much hassle and work.

Tharkûn had promised to watch Bilbo and, while Bifur had hesitated, Balin felt that it was a good idea to have the Wizard watch over Bilbo, especially as he seemed fond of the Hobbit.

Thus, with Balin's approval given, Bifur was overruled and they left Tharkûn alone with Bilbo to rearrange the packs across the ponies, especially as Gentleheart did not have a packsaddle.

They kept the weight under the maximum the ponies could carry with ease, and Balin was careful in hiding a present for Thorin (one of the swords from the sword rack that had what seemed to be a dragon tooth for the grip) amongst the furs on one of the pack ponies.

Even the best of thieves would have trouble spying the gift worthy of a future king amongst all the less valuable items, though Bifur knew a few of the furs would be sold below price to make up for whoever they had been stolen from in the first place, or given to those who had need of such things.

Once they were reassured that the ponies were ready to go, Bifur returned for Bilbo to find the Hobbit conversing with Tharkûn.

The gestures that flew from Bilbo's hands were not any Bifur recognized, though Tharkûn certainly did as he was returning them just as readily.

This boded well for the Hobbit, as it meant he was far more awake then he had been earlier, but not enough to sit on a pony alone.

At least, not within Bifur's opinion, as he remembered all too well good guards falling from ponies and snapping their necks.

All it took was one bad topple from a pony to die from a head or neck injury, either by the ground or a healer's hand when the windpipe couldn't be fixed or it was believed the Dwarf would never awaken, though the Healers with their stubbornness rarely took that path.

He was gentle as he helped Bilbo pack back up, ignoring Tharkûn in the manner he had learned through long practice, and he slowly helped Bilbo get his pack on his back before helping him stand.

The last of the furs were bundled by Tharkûn himself, who was muttering all the while about bandits growing in number and even about the sickness that was claiming the land from the roots of the Lonely Mountain to the far side of Mirkwood.

“You never did tell us what you were doing on this road, Gandalf,” Balin stated and Tharkûn huffed quietly as he strapped the furs to an open space on Bifur’s saddle while Bifur tried to figure out how to get Bilbo settled comfortably with as little fuss as possible.

He knows that Bilbo needs the pack that rests on his back. He needs a secure lifeline to the life he has given up, all for his Shire and whatever promises were made between Balin and the Thain. He knows that, due to how unsteady Bilbo is, he needs to sit in front of Bifur, however, and that means the pack can _not_  stay on Bilbo's back.

Bifur heaves a soft sigh as that thought fills his mind and he focuses on helping Bilbo remove the pack.

Bilbo fights him, briefly, but when Bifur just helps him slip it, sort-of, onto his front, he calms immediately.

The moment it was partially settled against Bilbo's front, he hugged the pack to his chest and Bifur did not hesitate to carefully lift Bilbo up onto Udjanbutsishaz's back.

Bifur's pony kept stone still as Bifur mounted up behind Bilbo, who was remembering the lessons that Bifur had barely managed to give to Bilbo, even as Tharkûn huffed.

"There is a great shadow clinging to the land, Master Balin, and I have found it creeping ever westward. When I reached the Shire, in hopes of finding one to bring with me on an adventure, the Thain told me of how Bilbo had left the Shire with a group of Dwarves. It was the talk of the Shire and, while I was quite proud of Bilbo returning to his mother's roots, I was quite surprised he had taken the initiative, though I had never doubted the integrity of the Dwarves, I have to wonder why you need a Hobbit at  _all_ ," Tharkûn returned, making it sound as if he had answered the question, while he did not, and Bifur gave a quiet snort that Bilbo had to have felt, since he glanced back at Bifur with that frown on his face he got when he was confused.

Bifur just gently tapped Bilbo's forehead with his knuckles and Bilbo faced forward once more, squeezing tight with his thighs to keep his balance on the back of the pony while Bifur kept him bracketed between his arms, despite one hand holding tightly onto his boar spear, the bottom of it resting the carefully made holder attached to his saddle.

 _"You did not answer the question, Tharkûn,"_  Bifur growled out in Khuzdul.

Tharkûn chuckled lowly at that, his voice almost disappearing in the breeze that was picking up. "Master Bifur, I can assure you that I did, in fact, answer the question," Tharkûn stated, already taking his pipe out.

Bifur snorted and carefully guided his faithful mount into formation, Balin moving to take the lead as Gandalf mounted up as well, another sword from the rack on his hip, along with what could only be a long knife.

Bifur frowned at that and shifted so Bilbo was in a more protective circle of his arms before he began to follow in the formation, snarling orders at his guards when it seemed necessary.

Considering how they had failed so spectacularly with the future consort, Bifur was gleefully enjoying his roundabout way of berating them.

*~*~*~*

Bilbo could not understand why he ached so much, until he finally got a look at how bruised and battered he was, in the practically frozen, clear, stream he had all but begged Bifur to let him bathe, quickly, in.

Bifur had come, of course, and Bilbo really couldn't feel the usual embarrassment creep up that he usually did when he gained a shadow for bathing.

While he was far more lucid in the bright afternoon sun then that morning, he had just been abducted for reasons he still did not know, and was still woozy. Having a shadow meant that he likely wouldn't be snatched again and would be even less likely to drown if dizziness overcame him.

He was quick, wincing when he scrubbed over a bruise or over his raw wrists. He had dressed in completely clean clothes, instead of mostly clean clothes, these having been wrapped in his coat when he realized he would need to separate his clean clothes and his dirty clothes if he wanted to keep the clean clothes still smelling, mostly, clean.

It also made him feel closer to home, but if he dwelled too long on that, he would find himself in tears.

Everything was catching up with him and he wasn't really looking forward to the moment it all hit him.

However the moment they returned to camp, Gandalf was striding over to them, a sword, for a Hobbit, in his hands.

He carefully handed it to Bilbo, who took it on instinct before he shook his head. "Gandalf, I don't know how to use a sword."

Gandalf gave him a look, one that was similar to the one he had received as a child from Grandfather Took and had asked for his mother, not understanding the muddled memories that jumped around his mind, nor the way his arms burned, as if they had been ripped apart.

It was not as strong, nor did it have the same emotions, but it was one Bilbo had always thought was exactly like one Grandfather Took would give him whenever Bilbo did something that was something his mother would do.

It was no wonder Gandalf and Grandfather Took were, once upon a time, such good friends.

 _"And I hope you never have to Bilbo Baggins, but_ this  _is an_ Elvish _blade. It will glow_ blue  _when Orcs and Goblins are near,"_ Gandalf gestured and Bilbo sighed softly, staring down at the sword before he attempted to tie it around his waist one handed, as his arm was still in the sling.

He nearly leapt right out of his skin when Balin suddenly appeared, carefully showing him how to belt it properly to his waist.

Bilbo smiled his thanks and looked to Bifur, who was glowering at Gandalf while Gandalf seemed overly amused by it all.

Whatever was said was lost to the great beard, like most words spoken by any who had beards (thus, the Dwarves as a whole), but Bilbo was hungry for lunch, so he began to make his way to the campfire, leaving the pair to the argument.

Once he had settled on the ground with his bowl of stew, he focused on how Bifur argued with Gandalf.

Bifur argued differently with different people.

With Balin, it was almost subdued, but not really.

It made Bilbo think of the mad dog one of his uncles had locked up so they could put it down quickly and how it had leapt at the bars before his father had pulled him away, later explaining in their (not mother's anymore,  _their_ ) somehow empty smial, that Bilbo had seen enough death in his life. There was no reason Bilbo needed to see anymore right then and Bilbo had nodded in agreement, before asking why a dog in a cage meant death.

Bifur arguing with Balin reminds him of that with frightening clarity.

Of the dog in the cage that snarled and leapt at the bars, but couldn't actually get out and Bilbo is terrified that one day he will look away and when he looks back he will find Bifur dead.

With the guards, it is practically a fight, though one without any punches thrown. Bilbo feels that those arguments are a bit like seeing an alpha dog pining down one who attempted to usurp his position.

Bifur's arguments with Gandalf remind Bilbo of the female wolf, white as the snow, eyes gold, ready to leap upon him for getting so close to her den until he threw the food at her.

He had read in the lips of a den with pups, and he had gone to find them.

He had wanted to save them.

He had not been expecting to face his nightmare.

His father had been so terrified when Bilbo had stumbled home, shivering and shaking from his adventure, ill-equipped to face the cold and he remembered how his father cried when he had hugged Bilbo tight to him. He remembered how his father couldn't remember how to gesture for hours and every time he started to he would just end up holding Bilbo close as he sobbed, soaking Bilbo's hair.

Bilbo promised to take his father on the next adventure he went on.

It hits Bilbo then that he will never visit his parents’ graves again. That the only adventures they took were to visit Grandfather Took till those visits stopped too, nine years after his mother died, for Grandfather Took had died too, at the grand age of 130.

It hits Bilbo then that he will probably never again see the smial his father had built for his mother and he's swallowing harshly to keep from crying as it hits him entirely that he almost didn't get to see the reason he had left, either, because he was snatched from the shadows and whisked away into a cave.

He knows he shouldn't cry, but it is a losing battle, and it is better to cry then to scream and rage.

He sets the bowl, practically licked clean without his realizing it, with the rest to be taken to the stream to be washed and heads over to where the ponies are grazing and dozing.

Gentleheart raises his head at Bilbo's approach and Bilbo buries his face into the gelding's neck as tries to remember how to muffle his sobs.

Gentleheart, like most creatures of this world, does not judge him for his tears, merely standing there as tall as the Meras of Legend who had guarded the Hobbits as they moved away from their original home all the way to the roots of the Snow Topped Mountain, at which point they could go no farther.

When Bilbo is ready to step away, he rubs his face with his sleeve till his face feels dry and then scratches Gentleheart's cheek, the gelding turning to press his nose to Bilbo's cheek before Bilbo turned to return to camp, Bifur waiting just an arm's length away from the farthest pony.

And Bilbo couldn't help but smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Neo-Khuzdul _Udjanbutsishaz_ means _greater trust of ancient silver origin(s)_.
> 
> Also, yes, the bandits took the place of the Trolls because I just...I couldn't figure out the Troll scene, or a modified version of it for this.
> 
> (For anyone wondering, the Elves found them and took care of them. There are stone trolls in that clearing, but they were taken care of by the Elves who were patrolling the area.)
> 
> *whistles nervously*
> 
> Um...so...yeah.
> 
> When I adjusted Bilbo's age, I didn't adjust the year. Fell Winter happened when Bilbo was 11 instead of 21.
> 
> He actually strained and severely harmed a few muscles, but he kind-of got so terrified and protective of his mother it over-rode it all. The Old Took (Grandfather Took as Bilbo keeps calling him), died nine years after the Fell Winter.
> 
> Bungo died shortly after Bilbo came of age, because he desperately missed Belladonna and he couldn't hold on any longer.
> 
> (I have an epic love story in my head between the pair of them. Only problem? Epic love stories always end tragically. Because I have seen that kind-of love in my life. I saw it end, and it ripped me apart and it was just so beautiful while it was there and so painful when it ended and it was like watching water slip through a sieve and I was always very thankful when the one left behind joined the one that had gone, because it hurt to watch him try to live his life without her and he honestly couldn't. I remember watching him turn to talk to her and she wouldn't be there and he'd just...break almost. They had just loved each other _so much_ that seeing them apart _hurt_.)
> 
> Also, yes, this is going off of how Hobbits are considered creatures from fairy tales by those of Rohan.
> 
> I figure, back during their Wandering Days, they had to leave Rohan. I bet it had to do with the death of the Entwives (though my headcanon includes that, one, not all died, and two, some Entlings survived because Hobbits are badass and they got Entlings to safety, because they were created by Yavanna, because she asked nice and Eru thought her idea was adorable and they helped out the Ents, but they didn't go by "Hobbit" back then, so that was why Treebeard got all confused), and they left Rohan.
> 
> The Meras, because I love horses and because it is my headcanon and I can do what I want, guarded the Hobbits till they got to Misty Mountains, where they climbed up, passed over the Redhorn/Caradhras, and headed back down.
> 
> Hobbits.
> 
> The cutest little badasses you shall ever meet.
> 
> (On that note, my secondary headcanon about "the true origin of Hobbits because descended from Man my foot", is that the surviving Entlings were changed by Yavanna into Hobbits, another reason they are so good at throwing things, because, man, those Ents love to throw their boulders. And this also explains how Hobbits get so blood thirsty at times and why they are good at growing things because the Entlings, according to my headcanon because I have no clue, I am not Tolkien, haven't grown fully into Ents or Entwives just yet, so they are a mix of the two for all their days; thus some wander and others are cheerful to grow their things.)


	10. More Elves (Death and Animal Death)

They are travelling for two days beyond the stream when they reach at a wider point in the trail that has great stones rising up around it.

It was completely incased in shadow, the optimal place for any Orcs, or even very brave Goblins, to attack.

And it was in those shadows that the blue glow that peeked out from sheathes was finally spotted, the sunlight no longer able to hide the warning.

It was not enough of a warning when the light was spied spilling from Bilbo's sheath, for in the next moment an Orc Pack swarmed from the rocks, racing down to meet them, one of the pack ponies getting caught under a warg before it was killed.

The entire battle was madness, and Bilbo, still woozy, still unsteady, his arm finally freed from the sling that morning, had barely managed to get his weapon up in time to have it sink into a Warg's head. Something in him wanted to run away in that moment, from the death and the confusion and the way it all seemed to yank at his eyes, trying to draw his attention away from what was important, such as the fact that an Orc was coming _straight for him._

He did his best to tug his blue blade from the Warg's skull when the Orc leapt at him instead of running.

It never touched him, however, as an axe, a Dwarvish axe, sliced through the neck and one of the Guards, one that kept far from Bilbo and often sneered at him, (before Bilbo swung Bifur's spear around, then he just kept his distance) has put himself between Bilbo and the Orc pack.

Bilbo doesn't know the guard's name, but he dies protecting Bilbo.

He dies from an Orcish arrow through the throat and he dies because he's keeping himself between Bilbo and the battle.

He doesn't even know the guard's name and something in him breaks over that.

They take the time to bury him in the rare dirt that is there, and then they move on as quickly as they can, a riderless pony carrying his axes, for his sword had been laid with him, the only signs the guard had been there at all.

(Later, Bilbo manages to ask Gandalf about the Dwarf who died for him. Gandalf gestures that the Dwarf's name was Linor, a Firebeard who lived in Erebor. He had requested asylum there some years past and it had been Thorin who had vouched for him, remembering him from the Battle of Azanulbizar. Bilbo accepts this as truth and hopes that Thorin does not hate him for the death of the one he vouched for.)

The day after Linor's death, Bilbo was finally allowed to ride behind Bifur instead of in front of him, arms wrapped around the Dwarf's ribcage loosely, his pack on his back. He is still woozy, but not so much so that he needs to hold on and the day after Bilbo has returned to riding Gentleheart.

The gelding seemed to be just as relieved as Bilbo to be returned to their previous arrangement.

From there it is a matter of picking their way down the path, spending most of the day walking down the steeper parts of the trail and taking more breaks than usual. Bifur keeps close the entire time and occasionally Bilbo shades the tiny break the light could escape from the sheath to insure that they are not attacked like that again.

*~*~*

Bilbo just barely managed to keep himself from sighing in relief as they left the Misty Mountains, finally coming to a plain, when he saw a group of Elves on horseback seemingly waiting for them.

He frowned a bit in surprise and turned to Bifur, who was gripping his boar spear in a white knuckle grip.

The Hobbit hesitated and then he reached out, gently pressing a hand to Bifur’s arm, having to lean over slightly to do so, but it drew Bifur’s attention to Bilbo.

Bilbo offered him a small smile and then he sat up properly, looking forward to find that Balin was talking with the leader of the Elves, a blond Elf on a gray horse, the auburn haired Elf behind the Elf Leader eying the Dwarves with distrust.

However, Bifur was doing the same back, so Bilbo decided that the auburn haired Elf was the Captain of the Elven Guards and he settled in Gentleheart’s saddle more firmly, calming.

It didn't seem like these Elves meant harm, not that Bilbo had _ever_ thought that Elves would mean harm, and was content to watch the exchange between Balin and the Elf Leader, Gandalf having ridden up on Bilbo's other side now.

He glanced over at Gandalf and raised an eyebrow at Gandalf, who merely smiled warmly at him in return.

Bilbo heaved a sigh at that and looked forward once more when a wave of wooziness, almost dizziness, hit him again. He clung to Gentleheart's mane, briefly, eyes squeezing closed as he curled over, pressing his forehead to Gentleheart's mane. He felt a hand rest on his back, right between the shoulder blades, and he suspected Gandalf until he realized that the hand was rubbing in soothing circles.

He could distantly feel the catch and release of calluses across his coat and he forced himself to glance over, only to find Bifur was there. He gave a weak smile, before he closed his eyes again, focusing on how the late summer, early autumn, sun felt across his back. He felt the minute shifts as Gentleheart shifted from side to side in boredom, but otherwise not moving.

There was the flex of the neck below his forehead, as if Gentleheart had tossed his head, along with a soft tug of the reins to support that theory, and Bilbo let out a shaky sigh before he slowly sat up to find Balin, and the Elves, watching him.

Bilbo gave a smile and looked to Bifur, who merely began to ride forward.

Bilbo took a deep breath and then followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Normally, I never kill any equines.
> 
> I dearly love equines.
> 
> But then my writer brain goes; "overhead attack; a pony is gonna die."
> 
> And I cry.
> 
> (Also, the mistake I made has been fixed.)


	11. Words of Warning Would Have Been Nice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who are just entering my works, a few of my shared headcanons spread throughout my Hobbit fandom world, even those that are not touched upon.
> 
> The first of which is Fae means Fae. Fae is not slang for Elf in my headcanon. Tooks have Fae blood in them.
> 
> The second; Brandybucks, which are mainly Stoor Hobbits, have Dwarf blood in them.
> 
> The third; Hobbits are as secretive as Dwarves, with their own culture, their own language, and their own names for Eru and the Valar.
> 
> Eru Ilúvatar is known as the Great One, but also the Life Giver. They thank him for their free-will and such, or in making them actually living instead of breathing puppets.
> 
> Yavanna is the Green Lady. She is their Creator, and every harvest is a festival/feast for her. They also usually swear by her. One of my favorite sayings I came up with that I haven't yet used is, "The Green Lady herself couldn't get a seed to take root in this soil!" (It is a reference to people being thick headed and stupid.)
> 
> Aulë is the Stone King. They acknowledge him as the husband of their Creator, and respect him, and he has festivals/feasts dedicated to him during the winter.
> 
> Nienna is the Merciful Lady. Hobbits like her and the festival dedicated to her is to try and make her smile, for just one day. (Specifically, Midyear's day, and it really is a fair/festival/thing where games and food and drink are about and there's lots of fun to be had.)

Bilbo let out a low sigh and resisted the urge to send his eyes westward to beg for patience from the Green Lady, or the Merciful Lady even.

Either would probably grant it to him, the Green Lady more so maybe than the Merciful Lady due to the fact she was married to the Stone King. And he was asking for patience in regards to the Stone King's Children. Well, maybe he should ask the Life Giver.

It was  _His_  First Born that were starting to tick Bilbo off, just a bit.

Both the Adopted _and_ the First Born were, actually.

And the Wizard was another that was starting to tick the Hobbit off.

It was with this list firmly in mind that Bilbo realized he was the only sane one. Well, him, the ponies, the Elves' horses, and the Wizard’s brown horse, if he left the bipedal group and included them all.

Not even  _Bifur_ had been spared in the _stupidity_ that was whatever foolish  _thing_  that was going on between the Dwarves and the Elves.

By the time they reached the edge of Mirkwood it was the first day of Halimath and the tensions seemed to have only risen since their first meeting.

It had grown _worse_  when Gandalf, still upset over how not even the _Elves_ would explain Bilbo's presence (and Gandalf could behave more like a faunt than the Wizard he was at times when denied knowledge), parted from their group.

He reassured Bilbo through quick gestures that he would return as quickly as he was able but he had duties to attend to farther along (an old friend to meet, specifically) and then left quickly.

The Elves had waved at Gandalf’s back, while Bifur looked indefinitely relieved that Gandalf was leaving.

Bilbo only knew this because the tension that had gathered in Bifur's shoulders and grip he had on his spear when Gandalf had joined them had lessened considerably at Gandalf's leaving. However, even with Gandalf now gone from their party, Bifur remained tense and almost angry.

And Bilbo couldn’t have that, not when Bifur had always been so kind to him.

Without hesitation, he rode up next to Bifur and carefully reached over, resting a hand on Bifur's lower arm. Bifur glanced over at him at the touch and Bilbo tilted his head to the side, feeling a frown of concern pull at his mouth.

For some reason, that seemed to work.

The rest of the tension left Bifur's frame, beyond some tenseness around his eyes, which Bilbo was sure would disappear once they were free of the Elves.

Bilbo smiled weakly and sat properly on Gentleheart's back once more, content that this was as right as his world was going to be for now.

He ran a hand over the gelding's neck and noticed how the Dwarves were bunching closer to him while the Elves seemed to eye them.

The distrust between the two groups was at ridiculous levels _especially_ considering that they were about to enter the dangerous Mirkwood.

They had all paused, as if to regroup before moving into the darkness that was Mirkwood, (though according to his mother's notes in her book of maps, it used to be called Greenwood the Great, and at the time they had gone, she and his father had met the  _King_ , Thranduil, somehow).

(It was a story that she had always sworn she would tell him later and then later had never come, for his father could never tell him the story, let alone _gesture it_ , after his mother passed.)

What he _had_ been told was that one of the grand healers of Thranduil's halls, Aeglossel (which was Sindarin for a white flower that was decorated with thorns that was a bit like gorse called "snowthorn", which had led to his father to interrupting his mother in the storytelling about how odd he found it that such a Hobbit-y name fit the grand Elf Lady), had discovered Belladonna to be pregnant.

His mother had befriended her while in Thranduil's palace and often said how they had to sneak out or Bilbo would have been born in the Greenwood instead of Rivendell.

They had kept in contact for all of his mother's life and Bilbo had met her when she had come to the Shire to pay her condolences and mourn her friend, before hugging Bilbo tight.

He remembered how she had shown him how to speak Sindarin, showed him how to speak what he could write, and how the words looked when spoken. Had wrangled a promise from Glorfindel, and other Elves of Rivendell, that they would aid Bilbo in learning while he was young, and she had kept up correspondence with him, leading him to write to her to say he was going to Erebor, giving it over to an Elf in Rivendell to send on to the Greenwood (or Mirkwood as it was being called now, though he had not known it at that time).

So, while he watched the Elves, noting the way Balin and the Elf leader were discussing what was most likely their marching order, he noticed how the Elves were speaking in Sindarin.

Most he couldn't catch, the distance too great and their lips were strained, slightly, around the words.

He watched and then he realized that they were speaking about Bifur. His eyes narrowed and he felt his body tense as one Elf seemed to be bad mouthing his friend.

Gentleheart began to shift beneath him, the flex of the gelding's neck and the vibration of the snort reminding Bilbo to relax.

He barely managed to do so, until he had confirmation that they were making remarks on how "the Dwarves truly showed how low they were, having a cripple in the guard."

It was the only sentence he caught fully and only because he had seen enough of the conversation to figure it out.

Bilbo let out a huff and then he maneuvered Gentleheart around, heading to the Elves. He ignored how the Elf Captain tensed as he approached them, and how Bifur followed quickly after.

He watched as they stilled and Bilbo paused. "Care to repeat that conversation for me?" Bilbo asked in halting Sindarin, carefully forming the words and praying to the Green Lady he got the correct twist for it.

One of the Elves smirked and leaned forward towards him.

"Why...words...one who cannot...?" the Elf questioned in Westron and one of the Elves reeled back, as if struck, while the Captain glared, slightly, while the rest kept to being neutral.

Bilbo gave a sharp smirk and he flung his arm out, halting Bifur's progress forward to deal out Dwarvish justice for the slight. "It is true, I can never hear the drivel that drips from your forsaken tongue, for which I shall thank Eru for every day of my life, but words are never wasted on one who understands them, unlike slow-witted fools, such as yourself, who decide to measure people off of what they _lack_ instead of what they _have_ ," Bilbo retorted, also in Westron and felt his smile grow, though it held no humor, as the Elf became furious, though twitches of amusement curled on the other Elves' faces showed that they were all thankful that Bilbo had taken it upon himself to confront the Elf.

He dropped his arm then and Bifur rode up, putting himself between Bilbo and the Elf Bilbo had just insulted. Bifur was glaring at him and Bilbo backed Gentleheart up, the gelding going easily. "Bifur, I think Gentleheart needs a rest from dealing with me on his back," Bilbo stated, sensing that Bifur was close to just starting a fight with the Elves.

Bifur gave a sharp nod and did the same, getting out of range of the Elf before they turned around, riding back to where the Dwarves were, all of them staring at the pair.

Bilbo ignored them, instead glancing at Bifur, who was speaking with Balin if the movement of his beard was anything to go off of, and Balin nodded.

When Bifur moved to dismount, Bilbo did as well, and the moment his feet touched the ground, he felt a sickness of the earth scuttling along the soles of his feet. He let out a shriek, he knew he did because Gentleheart tossed his head, doing a sort-of bounce rear and Bilbo was back up on Gentleheart's back, clinging tightly to the gelding's mane. "What is  _wrong_ with the earth?" he demanded, but if it was in Westron, Hobbitish, or Sindarin, he did not know.

All he knew was that he could have done with a warning about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aeglossel means "snowthorn" according to the name site I use for all my naming things for Elves.
> 
> (http://www.realelvish.net/namelists.php)
> 
> Anyway, guess away in the comment section if you want. Next chapter is that reveal, so yay.
> 
> On Bilbo knowing multiple languages; oh Eru, did he work for every single one. He knows Hobbitish and Westron and Sindarin fluently. He had to work hard on it, and he has to actively practice them (and he hates talking to people, so this is difficult) and him being deaf makes it hard for him to pick out the tiny nuances, so what the Elves did was what Bilbo did...
> 
> Picked out what they had and filled in the blanks.
> 
> Lip-reading is not an exact science. Hollywood lies about that. It takes a few tries to get 3/4 of everything and how I am portraying it isn't 100% accurate either, but...
> 
> Artistic license!
> 
> Moving on!
> 
> My first made up Hobbit thing, kind-of.
> 
> Hobbits are _very_ attuned to the world around them. Usually, they feel it through their feet (Brandybucks feel it, usually, through their hands).
> 
> Bilbo is close enough to Mirkwood, he can sense the illness.
> 
> Each type of Hobbit (Harfoots, the now common type, Stoors, which are basically Brandybucks, and Fallohides, which are basically the Tooks) had a strong connection of a different type to the earth around them.
> 
> Harfoots have a stronger connection to plants and how to make them grow.
> 
> Stoors have a stronger connection to that which is mined from the ground and how to shape them.
> 
> Fallohides have a stronger connection to animals and how to treat them (in either health or in behavior).
> 
> Bilbo is from Harfoots and Fallohides. He has both bloodlines. He has both abilities, and heck, most Hobbits have both abilities, with few exceptions.


	12. Welcome to the Realm of the Woodland King (Graphic Violence and Death)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Sky King is Manwë and...let's just say Hobbits respect him and leave it at that.
> 
> They like his wife, Starkindler (Varda) much better.

Bilbo resisted the urge to scrape the bottoms of his feet off against his trouser leg as they made camp that fifth evening under the boughs of Mirkwood, unable to stop the shudders that ran through his frame.

The soil was  _sick_ , the trees were  _sick_ , and the ponies seemed far too used to it all and Bilbo was starting to  _feel_ sick.

Especially since the ponies and horses would begin to shift nervously as night approached. Bilbo only knew it was night because the darkness that surrounded them would become pitch black with the loss of the sun overhead and what made that darkness _worse_ was the fact that, sometimes, Bilbo would be prepared to swear to the Green Lady herself that he could sense the approach of something that  _should not be_ across the sickened ground, or through the sickened trees.

It didn't help Bilbo's mental or emotional state that tensions only seemed to rise between the Dwarves and Elves the deeper they got into the forest.

Gentleheart pushed against Bilbo when the Hobbit moved to step away and Bilbo frowned as he gently pet the pony's neck. Gentleheart's breath was hot as each exhale ruffled Bilbo's hair.

It was quick too, and when Bilbo looked at Gentleheart, then at the other equines, it was to the realization that the whites of their eyes were showing. There were also obvious tremors making Gentleheart's pelt twitch and jump.

He winced a bit at the realization he was actually going to have to actively use his innate abilities to find what was scaring the ponies.

He leaned heavily against Gentleheart and then felt a prickle as if he was being stared at from above.

Bilbo slowly looked up and found himself staring directly at a giant spider, whose form was fading as the forest slowly darkened with the setting sun.

Bilbo's eyes darted around, but he could see only one.

That didn’t mean much, but he had to take that chance. His hand slowly comes to rest on the handle of his sword and he opens his mouth, the word practically tripping over his tongue to leap out in to the air.

"Spider!"

His throat hurts, as if ripped apart from the inside out and he can only hope that the power of the scream didn't overtake the words, but he doesn't have much time to think after that as he draws his sword in response to the spider doing a controlled fall from the tree.

The horses and ponies rear up and try to pull away, their leads straining as the spider advances on Bilbo, striking out with a clawed foot.

Bilbo swings at that and it rears back, scuttling back...right into a boar spear, which rips through the spider as if it is made of wet paper. It hits the ground, sickening blood spilling out and the equines panic slightly as the spider's death throes.

Bifur walks around the spider, slicing through the legs he cannot dodge until he's at Bilbo's right shoulder once more.

They group moves on after that, travelling through the dark, until Bilbo stops dead and refuses to move on. He knows, in that way he knew that the land was sick, that going on would be bad.

Bifur, whose eyes seem to glow in the darkness when the pathetic light that came from in front managed to catch them, like a cat's almost, looks at him and stops as well, followed by the rest of the Dwarves.

Bilbo will not move, refuses to move, and when Bifur reaches out to tug him forward, Bilbo steps back once.

Under his feet, the earth is sick and he can feel it getting sicker, infecting the woods and beyond. But...there is something else up ahead and when Bifur reaches for him again, Bilbo takes another step, Gentleheart coming with him. "I will not go farther. There is something  _wrong_ a head," he answered, but he doesn't know if he's being heard and Bifur seems to stare at him.

The darkness has made it impossible for Bilbo to see anything, to understand anything, and all he can feel is the sickness creeping along his feet, trying to get into his veins and make him like the earth around him.

The Green Lady help him, for he is certain that if he had any open cuts around his feet, it would do just that.

They camp is made quickly and Bilbo doesn't hesitate to settle on his bedroll, refusing to move from it once settled. While the bedroll isn't much, it is enough to cut him off from the sickness, once he's scraped the last of the dirt off the bottom of his feet.

Once again, he is thankful the Green Lady never granted him the ability to sense the earth around him even when he was separated from it. He knows of a few, his father coming to mind, who did and he is sure he would not survive Mirkwood if separation from the earth itself didn't cut off his ability to feel it.

He doesn't get such a reprieve from it all during the day, walking next to Gentleheart as he does. The branches hang far too low to ride under, but this gives their ponies time to rest from carrying them everywhere.

The reprieve he gains now as him slumping onto the bedroll in relief and he closed his eyes. He doesn't twitch when someone touches his shoulder, but he slowly opens his eyes to find that he is staring up at the Elf leader, a fire having been started a short distance away.

Bifur is glaring at the Elf, something that does not surprise Bilbo in the slightest.

He is surprised to realize the Elf is holding a bowl of stew and Bilbo slowly sat up, hoping they don't drag him over to eat with the group, having just settled his stomach.

He is pleasantly surprised when, once he is sitting up, the Elf carefully hands Bilbo the bowl and Bilbo gave a nod of thanks before he began to eat, Bifur settling next to him on the ground, but not on bedroll, thankfully. The Elf smiles and heads back to the group.

Bilbo glances at Bifur and lifts the bowl briefly. Bifur just nods and Bilbo hopes Bifur is not lying about having already eaten.

When the bowl is halfway done, Bilbo hands it to Bifur, unable to stomach more, which is a bad thing.

He needs to get away from this constant barrage of sickness before he  _becomes_ sick and he settles under the warm blankets.

Bifur pats his hair, which Bilbo appreciates, even if it does get some of the dirt in his hair.

So long as it doesn't touch his feet, however, he is fine.

Hopefully.

It is that lovely thought that follows him into sleep, something he could have done without, and his dreams are plagued with nightmares of the sickness devouring him and pulling him under.

When he wakes with a start some hours later, it is to the forest slowly lightening, and Bilbo is relieved it was all a dream.

*~*~*

They are not even an hour into their morning march when they find a web spread across the trail.

Had they continue in the dark they would have walked straight into it and become the giant spiders' next meal, or three, for equines without an owner would be a far too tempting treat for the spiders to resist.

The Captain of the Elf guard begins to scout for a way around the webbing and there is great hesitation in leaving the trail with their mounts, but it is eventually done.

None are happy about it, especially Bilbo who realizes that what he's been feeling on the packed dirt path is  _nothing_ compared to what he feels off it.

His stomach rolls and threatens to rebel, but soon they are back on the trail and Bilbo manages to get to the side before he gets sick all over a tree root. He pulls back at that and finds himself looking up and right at a brown garbed Wizard.

He stares and the Brown Wizard stares back before he moves forward. His hand twitches and he seems worried, a streak of bird droppings staining his hair as well as the side of his face.

Bilbo doesn't twitch, even when the Wizard's fluttering hands reach out and press against Bilbo's forehead. His odd ways, especially the way his lips twist when he speaks, make it impossible for Bilbo to understand him, but he smiles anyway.

And then the Wizard signs to him.

_"What are you doing here Green Child?"_

The gestures are familiar to Bilbo and he does not hesitate to gesture back, _"I am going to marry a Stone Child,"_ and the Wizard nods a bit.

He then pats Bilbo's head and wanders, hesitantly, over to the Elf leader.

He is treated with great respect, but it is obvious, to Bilbo at least, that the Wizard does not want to be there. He wants to go back to his home and his animals, and he is truly the Green Lady's Champion, just as much as Gandalf is whoever’s Champion he is.

After a time, the Wizard returns, pausing only to pat Bilbo's head absently and move quickly away, disappearing into the murk.

Bilbo hopes he will be okay, but he is a Wizard, the Green Lady's Champion.

He will be all right, Bilbo is sure.

Bilbo ignores the questioning glances and instead focuses on moving forward.

He just wants to get out of this forest.

*~*~*

The welcome they receive at Thranduil’s palace is more for the Elves then the Dwarves and Hobbit, but Bilbo enjoys watching all the same.

He smiles a bit when he sees Aeglossel rush to greet the Elf Leader, smiling and Bilbo feels his heart clench at the sight.

No one has rushed to embrace him like that since his mother’s passing. His hands clench, briefly, in Gentleheart’s mane, before he forces himself to relax, even as Aeglossel begins to pat the Leader over a bit, smiling tearfully at him.

The leader seems very glad to see her as well, and then he turns, holding a hand out to the bunched group of Dwarves and one Hobbit when Aeglossel’s eyes find him.

She is over in an instant and she kneels down so she doesn’t tower over Bilbo before she’s pulling him into a hug. He feels his chest constrict and his throat hurt slightly as he makes a sound of some sort, but he’s hugging her back.

He’s missed her so since his mother’s funeral.

She pulls back slightly to look at him and asks, “What are you doing here?”

 _“it is a long story,”_ Bilbo gestures back and she nods before she is hugging him again, as if he were a faunt instead of an adult.

Bilbo relishes in the contact even though he knows he should be embarrassed.

He can’t find it in himself to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Champion is another name for Wizard.
> 
> Bilbo knows the Green Lady's Champion/Wizard on sight because of the fact they are a manner of kin in this way.
> 
> Also, yes, Aeglossel is Legolas's mom.
> 
> I'm sorry?


	13. A Quick Stop Over (aka, a Filler Chapter because I can)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Naneth means "mother".
> 
> Adar means "father".
> 
> Adar is more formal and something I see Legolas using instead of Nana, which is "mom" and Ada, which is "dad".
> 
> Well, at least that is what I could dig up.
> 
> Do they have English-Sindarin dictionaries, like actual real, weight in your hands dictionaries?
> 
> Because if they do, I want one.

Legolas watched Naneth with a smile as she looked through her old things. "Legolas, why don't I have Hobbit sized boots?" she demanded.

"Because you said only Brandybucks would wear them, Naneth," Legolas answered warmly and she smiled a bit before she sighed sadly, gently tugging out a shawl embrodiered with ivy around the edge and heather dancing across the expanse.

"He's forty-one...no, forty-two now. He'll...he'll be  _gone_ soon. For us. He got so  _big_ ," Naneth whispered softly as she ran her thumbs along the shawl, her lower lip trembling slightly before she clutched the shawl to her chest.

"And his mother was  _gone_ so  _fast_ , defending her son, her baby boy, from a wolf and I wanted to kill every single one; rip them to shreds and set their blood soaking into the soil. I lost my dearest friend nearly twelve years after meeting her," Naneth whispered and Legolas feels his heart twist a little at that.

He knows that she wanted the Hobbits to stay. She wanted Belladonna and Bungo to stay, but one night, when Belladonna had just started showing, they disappeared, leaving only a note behind.

Naneth had only stopped grieving when word from Rivendell reached them.

They were safe and Belladonna had given birth to a boy named Bilbo in Rivendell.

And then, they thought there was time, for when Bilbo was older.

And then there was no time left.

He remembers his mother grief keenly, for it was nearly thirty-one years ago that it shook through his mother, though not sharply enough to start the Fading, thankfully.

"And now the baby boy I barely knew is all grown up and getting  _married_ ," she whispered and clung to the shawl.

"Naneth," Legolas called and she looked up at Legolas, in time to watch him sit down next to her.

"Tell me about her, please?" he asked and Naneth let out a happy, yet sad, laugh that was filled with old laughter and new tears.

His Naneth is the only one in all of Mirkwood who can knock sense into Adar's head and if she gets too distressed, Adar is likely to do something stupid, like abduct Bilbo.

His elder brothers are good princes and warriors, in that order, and they won't oppose Adar's decision.

This will, as usual, leave Legolas to flounder.

He is too old to be considered a child, but he is too young to be considered out of his parents' influence. He is caught in the in-between and will be for another sixty years, at least, and longer if he does not pass the Trial of Adulthood, which he can only challenge once every fifty years, a curse of being practically immortal.

"You know all the stories," she protested and Legolas settled his head on her shoulder, something he could still get away with.

"I like them anyway. Besides, if you get too upset, Adar will do something stupid. Like abduct Bilbo and lock him up in the dungeons," Legolas answered and Naneth laughed in agreement.

*~*~*

Bilbo looked up from the book he was reading at one of Thranduil’s tables in the library as Thranduil carefully touched the Hobbit’s shoulder.

He wasn’t startled, which was a good thing as Thranduil truly didn’t feel like getting yelled at by his wife for startling Bilbo, who she treasured despite not seeing for thirty years, or nearly thirty years or something like that, and smiled, internally, at the respectful bow Bilbo gave from his seat.

Thranduil settled next to him and Bilbo seemed surprised by that, his forehead creasing as his head tilted to the side, brushed but too long curls falling.

He looked over the scattered work across the table, the pages of maps and the paper carefully cut to fit into the book seamlessly, even if it couldn’t officially be settled in, the changes marked on the original map set more firmly on the new.

Thranduil hesitantly reached out and Bilbo nodded with a smile, carefully focusing on the adjustments he was making to one of the Mirkwood maps, this one with charcoal warnings written around it while Thranduil looked at the Misty Mountains maps.

He took notice of the fact Bilbo was absconding with all the maps of Mirkwood to the Lonely Mountain. There were even some with notes attached about how this area or that area had fallen sick and could support no life.

It was as if a dragon lived in the mountain.

Or something _worse_ lived in Mirkwood.

Thranduil carefully pushed the map back and picked up the secondary book that he did not recognize.

A soft sound escaped Bilbo then and he looked down to see Bilbo’s eyes locked on the book. They were wide and panicked and Thranduil carefully set it down.

The tension left Bilbo and he looked up, his head dipped slightly. “Sorry. Just…that’s my father’s. Or was,” Bilbo explained, his voice thick.

That’s right, the Hobbit was deaf.

“Bungo,” Thranduil stated and Bilbo frowned, so Thranduil repeated himself, carefully, though he did not over enunciate.

He himself was starting to get hard of hearing in his right ear due to foolishness and, if he went to Lord Elrond, he could possibly get healed, but he’ll let his pride rule him till it becomes a problem.

In the meantime, he knows that over enunciating a word just irritates him and he is sure that Bilbo feels the same.

Bilbo brightened when he figured out the word and nodded. “I remember him,” Thranduil stated and Bilbo smiled sadly at that.

“I’m sorry. For your loss,” Thranduil stated softly and Bilbo let his fingers trace over the book.

It is Bungo’s book of Herbalism, now that Thranduil really _looks_ at it.

“It still hurts, even after nine years. But thank you,” Bilbo responded softly and Thranduil nodded slightly.

He had been closer to Bungo than Belladonna, more understanding of what it meant when one was content to be at home, to protect that home, than to traipse across Middle Earth, but would do it anyway because one’s adventurous wife wished to.

A gong was rung and Thranduil let out a long sigh before he touched Bilbo’s shoulder, drawing his attention up.

He nodded his autumn crowned head toward the door and Bilbo smiled and nodded in agreement.

Together, they put everything back and returned in silence.

Thranduil hoped that he and Bilbo could become friends, in time.

Considering that the Hobbit was here because he was on his way to marry Prince Thorin, Heir to the Throne of Erebor, well…

There was a good chance his hope would be rewarded.

And that was Thranduil’s favorite kind of hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made things up on the Elves since it says they reach full adulthood at 100 years of age.
> 
> Which, considering they are practically immortal, scared me a little. 100 years and they're considered adults?
> 
> Because even if they averaged at 1,000 years, 100 years terrifies me. That's like one-tenth of their life.
> 
> And a _lot_ of Elves live _around_ 1,000 years. Very few don't get there, or at least practically every Elf we are given an age for is, at least, 1,000 years old.
> 
> So I changed it to being 200, so their "of age" is about 20 years of age equivalency, but...
> 
> In Mirkwood/Greenwood, due to the dangers, they have to pass a Trial of Adulthood.
> 
> If the Elf in question wishes to pass, or is unable to complete the Trial, he has to wait 100 years before he is up again.
> 
> Thranduil actually told Legolas he wasn't allowed to go the first time it came up, at the age of 200, he was forced to not attend the Trial at 300 due to injuries, and failed 400.
> 
> It actually isn't uncommon in Mirkwood/Greenwood, for the Trial to be failed at least once, or for parents to step in. The Elf can challenge his or her parents over it, but the fact Legolas didn't that first time says he understood whatever reasoning his father gave.
> 
> He was put on a hunting team and got injured. Injuries bar an Elf from attending the Trial.
> 
> At 400, the first Trial he went through, he failed.
> 
> Failing the first time through is not uncommon due to the fact they need to be _sure_ they'll survive Adulthood. 
> 
> (Legolas's eldest brother failed his Trial twice.)


	14. To Dale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aka, We Are Almost at Erebor, _Finally_

They spent a week (and that was a week too long in the Dwarves' opinion) within Thranduil's palace.

Bifur was the most anxious to go, as Bilbo had a knack ofjust disappearing on the Dwarves, only to return with Thranduil (usually), or the Lady Aeglossel.

On one occasion, Bilbo, future Consort Under the Mountain, had been found with King Thranduil's youngest son (and the Dwarves' guide) Legolas at the archery range.

The young prince had, somehow, somewhere, produced a bow Bilbo's size and was teaching him how to use it.

Balin had almost put a stop to it, at the time, right up until he realized that Bilbo hit the target every single time.

Not the bull’s-eye, not yet, but he was getting marginally closer each time Legolas adjusted Bilbo's stance. When they made to leave, among the usual gifts exchanged, Legolas presented Bilbo with the bow he had been, apparently, teaching Bilbo  _on_ for the past six days, along with a quiver of arrows, gesturing as Aeglossel had before to Bilbo something that the Dwarves did not understand.

(Bilbo would later tell them that it was a gift of friendship from Legolas, and he would have to think of a proper gift in return.)

They rode out of Mirkwood and down to Esgaroth, a town built  _on_ a lake, Long Lake specifically.

They spent only a couple of nights there, with Bilbo spending a majority of it walking through the small market they had (though he told Bifur he hoped to see some of Dale's markets before heading into Erebor) and the rest of it either eating, sleeping, or staring at the Lonely Mountain.

They spoke with the Master of Esgaroth, a Man that made the hair on the back of Bilbo's neck stand up, on their final day there to arrange passage on transport up to Dale. Bilbo personally felt that they should just ride up to Dale, but Balin insisted that going by the ferry up to river.

Bilbo still felt Balin was _insane_ , especially since Bilbo didn't trust the Master.

The Hobbit felt that the Master was only in for his own gain, and he looked at Bilbo with a little too much interest. As if he was appraising Bilbo's value and figuring out how best to gain from it.

Bilbo didn't share those thoughts, however, as none of the Dwarves seemed to share those thoughts.

When it was all settled, Bilbo found that "ferry" might have been considerate.

 _Barge_ was far more appropriate and Bilbo barely managed to get his legs to stop shaking enough to get on board, but his terror of the water was starting to override everything, even common sense that told him to get out of the way.

When someone picked him up, he was sure the only reason he didn't shriek in fear was because his vocal cords were frozen.

Instead, he turned into the grip, recognizing Bifur in the way he was held and the scent that filled his nose. He wrapped his arms around Bifur's shoulders and held on for dear life as the barge rocked beneath them.

He held on tighter as they sat down and looked up to find Bifur just staring straight ahead. He shifted and then saw water.

Water so very,  _very_ close and Bilbo didn't hesitate to hide his face in Bifur's shoulder like a scared child burying his face into his mother's skirts.

Bifur just held onto him in return and, much to Bilbo's mute horror, they began to  _move_.

They were all going to die.

*~*~*

It was the most terrifying thing Bilbo faced in all of his life and he _never_ wanted to do that again.

He said as much when he was placed on the cobblestone road that lead to Dale, earning laughter from all of them. He could tell from the way they looked, their shoulder shaking and the way a few tossed their heads back.

With the Men, he could see the way their clothing shook and how they covered their mouths to hide their amusement.

Bilbo was content to mostly ignore them. “I am quite serious. I am _never_ getting on a barge again. Or near any sort of water that is not inside a _bathtub_ again,” Bilbo continued, though he did not move one centimeter from where he had been placed as he didn’t desire to run into anyone.

He can feel Bifur’s laughter as they get out of the way while the ponies are swung onto the shore instead of loaded up, like at Esgaroth.

Gentleheart accepts this indignity with far more grace than the other ponies and wobbles a little from the short time on the barge. Bilbo carefully leads the gelding to the side as the rest of the ponies are lead about, far more irritable than Bilbo’s as they carefully lead them away.

Someone touched Bilbo’s shoulder and he turned to only find himself looking up at a Man with a close cropped beard that surrounded his mouth, yet did not go up his jaw or cheeks, yet the hair on his head was long enough to pull back in a ponytail.

He said something, but Bilbo didn’t catch most of it, earning a frown from the tall Man.

Bilbo let out an undignified sound as Gentleheart shoved his nose against Bilbo’s ear and he turned to the gelding, gently tugging the brown pony out of his space as he felt someone step up next to him. He turned, surprised to find one of the Dwarven guards (he thought his name was Dyur, but Bilbo wasn’t sure) there.

He looked up to find the Dwarf speaking what could be respectfully to the Man. The Man then nodded and gave an ‘at your service’ bow.

Bilbo quickly returned it as he greeted the Man (the Man who had a bow and arrow strapped to his back, in fact) with a simple, “Bilbo Baggins, at your service.”

The Man just nodded a bit and smiled before he turned to greet Balin.

Bilbo turned back to the Dwarf and gave a smile. “Thank you,” he stated, startling the guard.

He pretended not to notice how he surprised the guard and instead focused on getting with the rest of their company.

Gentleheart was more than happy to follow.


	15. Erebor (Finally)

Their company only stayed long enough for Balin to speak with Lord Bard about the treaties and what was expected by all parties.

Bilbo did his best to hide his disappointment that he would not get to see Dale's markets and focused entirely on helping to get the ponies ready for the trek to Erebor.

He had felt, and seen, two riders of Dale gallop towards Erebor, though Bilbo wasn't sure if it was to tell the Royal Family, or others, that the party had arrived or not.

After the riders had galloped past however, the Dwarves had immediately begun getting the ponies ready to finish their journey and Bilbo hated being useless, so he had helped.

For the first time since he began to travel with them, Bilbo was treated with something more than just distant and barely there courtesy. They didn’t treat him in a manner that was entirely polite, or friendly, but it was far better than how he had been treated for most of the journey and most especially after their stay with Thranduil.

Bilbo huffed slightly as he settled the saddle on Gentleheart’s back before he cinched it just tight enough to keep it from falling off his back if he shook all over.

Ready to go, but without Balin, their company waited patiently while Bilbo leaned slightly against Gentleheart’s shoulder and began to run his fingers through Gentleheart’s mane.

With each careful twist of his fingers, he lost himself further to his thoughts and was soon pondering questions he could not hope to answer.

His least pressing, though among the most saddening, were thoughts of Gentleheart.

Mostly because his thoughts centered on Gentleheart’s owner and who that could possibly be while wondering if he would be able to convince his future husband that he would rather have Gentleheart than all the jewels in the mountain.

He isn’t sure about the culture he’s about to enter yet, and he hopes that he will get a few quick explanations before he has to go through the wedding ceremony and that…

And that’s when his thoughts become darker and far more pressing.

He worries about what his future husband will be like and hopes that the Dwarf he is going to marry hasn’t held onto silly romantic ideas like Bilbo had, such as remaining a virgin till his wedding night.

Bilbo absently tugged on Gentleheart’s mane, though not hard enough to irritate the pony.

It wasn’t too silly of an idea, but Bilbo was sure that if he had done as the other Hobbit lads and lasses (all firmly on their herbs and taking as much care as possible, though surprises happened and the child, while born out of wedlock, would be as beloved as the Hobbit lass who birthed him, and would usually be raised by a childless couple instead of the lass herself, unless she wanted to be branded for the rest of her life, though here Bilbo always grew confused and lost, especially since it wasn’t like the lass got pregnant on her _own_ , but Bilbo was distracting himself from his original thoughts and he knew it), he probably wouldn’t be so nervous about his wedding night.

If he had had _practice_ , he probably would be at least just worried about if he would _like_ Thorin or not.

Bilbo desperately hoped he would.

Their marriage would be a long and miserable one otherwise.

Bilbo was startled out of his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder and he looked up to find the Dwarves preparing to mount up.

He twisted his head slightly and found Bifur there. He gave the Dwarf a shaky smile and began to tighten the girth before he walked Gentleheart around a few moments. Once he had reassured himself that the saddle was secure (a mistake he would not make twice), Bilbo quickly mounted up and waited.

He hoped it would be a long trek to Erebor proper, if only so he could focus on getting his emotions back under control.

*~*~*

It was not, in fact, a long ride.

In fact, compared to the rest of the journey, it was a leisurely stroll in the early morning, with the sun peeking over and turning the wheat gold.

Bilbo’s hands tightened, briefly, on Gentleheart’s reins before he relaxed them again.

As they rode closer to the gates, Bilbo couldn’t help but look up, finding his eyes tracing the grand gates, wondering if the decoration served a secondary function beyond looking pretty.

Because it was, in fact, quite pretty, but from what he knew of the Dwarves, they liked practicality as well, similar to Hobbits in that fashion, and something being pretty for pretty’s sake didn’t sit properly within Bilbo’s mind.

 _Especially_ in regards to a gate meant to protect the kingdom from attack.

He would have to ask, later, and with that resolve, he turned his thoughts to meeting Thráin for the first time.

He hoped he made a good first impression.

*~*~*

Thorin, son of Thráin, Heir Apparent of Erebor, was waiting on the top of the battlements for Balin’s return as well as the arrival of his intended.

Not that he planned on actually being seen by either, as it would not do for the Heir Apparent to be found loitering around the gates, fidgeting like a Dwarfling in his seat during a least favorite lesson.

“Ya keep pacin’ like that and you’ll wear the stone away,” Dwalin stated, but Thorin ignored him as the ponies came into sight.

He leaned over and then frowned. “Linor’s missing,” Thorin stated and Dwalin joined him at the battlement.

Thorin searched, but Dwalin’s quiet, “Balin must be tearing himself apart for not bringing him back,” told Thorin that searching for the brave Firebeard was useless.

He would not be found.

“Balin will tell us later,” Thorin stated and slowly stood, when he noticed that the brown pony Balin had _dragged_ along to sell was carrying the Hobbit.

It would seem that, once again, his sister Dís was right. The pony did just need a gentler hand.

And, in Thorin’s opinion, one couldn’t get more _gentle_ (useless) than a Halfling.

He bit back a sigh.

He was going to have to stop those thoughts if he didn’t want to start this marriage off on a bad foot.  _One wrong misstep can cost your life._

Thorin just had to rely on his training and keep vigilant for surprises so as not to misstep.

When the company passed through the gate, Thorin stepped away from the battlement and headed back inside. He had other duties to attend to after all before he met his future husband that night for dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank Eru, they're finally at Erebor!
> 
> And....yes, Thorin.


	16. First Meetings

Bilbo feels exhausted down to the bone and the knowledge he has to rush his bath so he could get dressed in time for the first meeting he has with Thráin isn’t helping matters.

But he does what is necessary and what he can in his temporary rooms, especially as Balin took the time to write out a schedule for him, along with what he would need to do.

And the first thing he had to do today was meet Thráin.

Bilbo’s not sure if he’s terrified or…no, he’s just terrified.

*~*~*

He’s led to a small chamber, Bifur still at his right shoulder. There is a young Dwarf with a scribe’s kit, as it were, and he immediately sits where Bilbo can read over his shoulder.

It is a temporary solution, but Bilbo doesn’t say anything about it.

They don’t have time before the meeting to come up with a more permanent solution, but Bilbo hopes that the Dwarves have some sort of gesture language. It would be easier, in the long run, to learn  _their_  gesture language.

If they had one.

They must have one though. As a culture filled with warriors, the ability to hold a silent conversation would be useful in many situations. Some even outside of battle situations. A noisy forge where someone needed something, maybe. He would have to ask Bifur or Balin to explain how forges worked at some point if that was even a reason to have a gesture language.

Bilbo was pulled out of his musing when he felt Bifur’s fingers tap his elbow and he looked up, only to see a one-eyed, thickly bearded, grey haired Dwarf enter.

On his head was the royal crown of Erebor and, despite his slightly shifting pace of moving almost as if on a boat (and Bilbo had  _no_  desire to repeat  _that_  experience), he seemed to wear power around him like a cloak. If Bilbo had met this Dwarf on the street, he would know him to be King.

Once the realization dawns on him, he is quick to give the proper bow to Thráin, and when he stands properly, Thráin gives a polite nod in return. The beard begins to move and Bilbo's eyes glance quickly between the King and the scribe, reading what the King was saying.

_Bilbo Baggins, welcome to Erebor. I apologize for meeting with you so quickly after you got here, but council meetings make it next to impossible for me to insure I would meet you at dinner tonight, when you shall meet the rest of the Royal Family._

Ori's quill pauses and the beard has stopped moving, which prompted Bilbo to shift his elbow subtly.

He got a tap in return. "It is quite all right," Bilbo answered, glancing subtly over at Balin.

A tiny nod in return caused Bilbo to relax and Thráin seemed to relax as well. Soon the pair were discussing things, though something was sitting oddly with Bilbo, something about Thráin.

He just couldn't put his finger on it.

When the meeting was finished, Bilbo followed Balin’s lead back out, mentally fortifying himself for the first onslaught of lessons he would have to go through over the next four days to prepare him for the wedding. Bilbo wasn’t entirely sure if he was going to make it.

(When he shared this thought with Balin, the Dwarf laughed and pat his shoulder gently, before he promised that Bilbo would be right as rain before the wedding. Bilbo wondered where Balin got his confidence from.)

*~*~*

When dinner came, Bilbo was _starving_ , months on the road and the lack of regular Hobbit meals taxing on his body.

Balin led him to the Royal Family dining room, Bifur at his right shoulder. When he had asked Balin about it, Balin had responded that it would be discussed between Bilbo and Thráin tomorrow.

Whatever _that_ meant, but it didn’t seem _too_ ominous, so Bilbo let it slide.

He had a feeling he was introduced and when he entered the room, at Balin’s subtle motion to come forward, he wasn’t _entirely_ sure what he was supposed to do. Thráin stood at the head of the table, with a black haired Dwarf with close cropped beard (though why Bilbo did not know, as he had thought all Dwarves to be very proud of their beards) and piercing blue eyes to his right.

Bilbo realized that this had to be Thorin and Bilbo resisted the urge to swallow nervously. Thorin was…broad and tall, what Bilbo might consider a pillar of Dwarven strength at a glance and Bilbo forced his eyes to leave his intended just so he didn’t faint at the thought of the wedding _night_.

(He’s sure he is a bit paler though, if the quick glance Balin gives him is anything to go off of.)

To Thráin’s left was a female Dwarf that could be Thorin’s twin, though her eyes were more grey than blue, and she is, to Bilbo’s eyes, noticeably female.

(He wonders if this is so for other races, but knows it would be impolite to ask.)

To Thorin’s left was a blond haired Dwarf with dark eyes and across from _him_ was a brunette Dwarf with no beard to speak of (and Bilbo was sure that whatever teasing the lad faced was worse than what Bilbo faced in his youth). He swallowed a bit and gave the bow Balin had shown him earlier, noticing the slight movement of beard out of the corner of his eye to indicate that Balin was speaking.

When he stood up properly, he was a bit surprised he got a respectful bow in return from the two Dwarves closest to him, tiny half-bows from the adults, and the proper head nod from Thráin. Balin guided him to his chair, near the Dwarf with stubble, and then they all sat down as one.

The table almost seemed to explode then, but Bilbo was content to take in the scene and work on getting food. Next to him, the brunette Dwarf seemed to be half lost in his own world. He chattered quickly, but Bilbo could at least read his lips, or every third word at least, and was content to try and piece together what the young Dwarf was saying while he ate. And then the brunette Dwarf dropped his utensil, a fork.

Bilbo raised an eyebrow and looked up at the table as a whole, only to find Thorin was glaring at him as if he had done something wrong. Bilbo pulled back slightly, glancing over at Balin, who was sitting across from him, but the elderly Dwarf just pat the table, so Bilbo looked back over at Thorin, but Thorin wasn’t looking at Bilbo anymore, but Thráin.

There was obviously an argument going on, Thráin’s beard moving and Thorin, though turned to the side, was easier to read, but Bilbo didn’t have enough to go on to figure out what Thorin was saying. He couldn’t stop the start if he tried when Thráin slammed his hand on the table as he stood, Thorin standing to meet him.

It was only then that Thorin left the room, leaving Bilbo to wonder what he had missed. When he turned a questioning glance at Balin, the older Dwarf gave a wave that meant "later."

Bilbo resisted the urge to sigh at that and focused on his food.

There were a  _lot_ of "laters" within this mountain and Bilbo was starting to get real sick and tired of them. Hopefully, however, they would all become "now"s sooner rather than later.

(Bilbo truly doubted that it would come to pass, however. Not anytime soon, at least.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here is fun info dump for this chapter!](http://moonrose91.tumblr.com/post/50640025123/headcanon-info-dump-for-life-is-what-you-make-of-it)


	17. The Dinner and the Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally this was supposed to be in the last chapter, however...
> 
> I was really tired and didn't trust myself to actually write it properly, so I decided to cut the two sentences I wrote and wait till tomorrow.
> 
> Then tomorrow came and I got distracted by Tumblr (sorry), so you get this late.

Thorin isn't sure what to expect when Balin enters the Royal Dining Room and introduces Bilbo Baggins.

But he will admit he wasn't expecting a too thin (he can see the Hobbit's cheekbones jutting out slightly), pale, Hobbit with curly brown hair that fell to his earlobes limply, wearing clothes that seem to be a cross between traditional Hobbit wear and Dwarven wear. The cloths are obviously heavier and darker (which could be making Bilbo look paler than he is) than what Thorin knows Hobbits to wear.

Brown trousers with a long sleeved dark green high collared shirt, with a vest with brown to match the trousers, but with far paler brown in diamond print to offset it. It was simple, not the mark of the Heir’s Consort, but it…suited Bilbo, somehow.

The bow, right hand lying over his heart, torso bending partially, is a general greeting.

While it may be stiff from lack of practice, it still flows and Thorin finds that it would be easy to care for the Hobbit, if this type of flow could be transferred to other things within Dwarven culture, such as at least being able to defend himself in an attack.

There have been whispers (though only whispers) against this choice, that another could have been chosen to marry the Hobbit, but one never knew when a deep vein could be uncovered.

(The same could be said of love. Love might be uncovered, in time, as it had been for his own parents, though only Thorin remembers when they just barely tolerated each other.)

Either way, Bilbo would  _have_  to know how to defend himself.

The peaceful being would not have a choice in that matter, unfortunately.

Thorin is pulled out of his thoughts by Fíli and Kíli’s bow, a proper one that is meant for those of lower station to older, though Bilbo isn’t, technically, of a higher station than them yet.

He bows in a manner similar to Bilbo’s, though with his hand in a fist, similar to how Dís bows across from him.

Father, of course, just nods his head.

Only then does Balin show Bilbo to his seat (next to Kíli) and Thorin can see Bifur hover at the doorway before he settles in a nook, similar to how Dwalin has settled into a nook near Thorin, though which one Thorin does not know.

He doesn't need to know, actually and when they sit, after Bilbo has sat down (and Balin's silent cues are near invisible), they tuck in.

His father keeps most of his attention through the evening, along with Dís, though quick glances down the table tell Thorin that Bilbo is eating (thankfully; he will trust Balin to get Bilbo to Óin for a check-up tomorrow to work on getting Bilbo healthy once more), though the Hobbit is focused on Kíli, intensely so, but Thorin soon finds his focus drawn back by his Father and sister, his sister amused by the fact that his attention keeps being drawn by the Hobbit.

Father seems oddly pleased as well and they are about to discuss the whispers, when Balin's voice rises, probably louder than the older Dwarf intended.

But the words draw Thorin's gaze immediately.

"Don't get mad, Fíli. Master Baggins cannot hear you."

Silence descends on the table, omitting the way Kíli still chatters on, and Thorin feels a glare settle. " _What_ do you mean by that Balin?” he asked as his eyes glance over at Bilbo, who is watching Kíli still as he eats.

He does not have to look back at Balin to know that he has sighed, for the tone of voice sounds almost weary. “Master Baggins is _deaf_ , Thorin. But he was the best choice, of all the Hobbits even willing to come Erebor,” Balin answered.

Kíli’s fork clattered to his plate, but Thorin knew that his rage overtook his mind.

Bilbo started slightly and looked to Balin, but Thorin was already turning to his father. “Father, what is the meaning of this insult?” he snapped, even as in the background Kíli voiced his confusion over Bilbo being deaf, considering that Bilbo had been responding to his questions.

Thorin knows his rage gets the best of him when he truly unleashes it and he has no desire to leash it now. “Watch your tongue,” Father snapped, but Thorin merely snarled.

“They raise their voices _now_ , what do you think they will raise when it is learned that he is deaf as well?”

“Your intended is right there, Thorin, and I will not have this discussion in this manner!” Father growled.

“They will take this as an insult from the Shire in the face of our generous alliance! The giving of us a left-over _scrap_ that no one wanted because of his being a _liability_ ,” Thorin snarled, even as Dís hissed out, “Thorin!”

“I am the King and that is reason enough to have him here! They have less reason than most to help us and needed a reassurance that it would not turn on them!” Father explained.

“That is not…” Thorin argued, but was cut off as Father rose suddenly and Thorin joined him.

“Enough of this! We will discuss this later!”

Thorin bared his teeth and let out a growl before he bit out, “Of course, my King.”

And then he stormed out of the room, not even glancing back to know that Dwalin was following.

Dwalin always followed where he would lead.

*~*~*

“The Sword Ring should be open,” Dwalin offered as Thorin made his twentieth pass through the entirety of his chambers.

The dinner could have gone better, in Dwalin’s opinion.

However, what was done was done and Dwalin could not turn back time to fix it.

Tomorrow would come soon enough. Tomorrow, Thorin and Thráin would shout loud enough to turn rocks to dust and there might even be a duel issued that Thráin would inevitably win (though his hair was now gray, that meant nothing in Dwarven culture, though when the coughing began, then would they worry about their King, for Thorin was not yet ready, and might not be without someone to temper his…well, to temper his temper).

“That might be for the best,” Thorin grit out and soon they were walking quickly through the hallways, to the practice ring.

It was quiet, empty of anyone, but that was probably for the best.

No one needed to see Thorin releasing his temper in such a manner.

They get practice swords and then they are going at each other. They fight with everything they have, Dwalin using what he’s best at, standing still and lunging when Thorin gets close, his body not built for speed, not like Thorin is.

Thorin _dances_ and it is something Dwalin has always been envious of.

Thorin was never restrained, could move like one of those acrobats that came through Dale at times, though he rarely did. Rarely had the luxury to dance and dart around his opponent and against Dwalin…

Well, he always had the time.

Against Dwalin, all his movements were quick strikes and even faster backward movements.

Against his nephews, or even Dís, it was an intricate dance, and thrust and pull that would leave all breathless just watching, to say nothing of those actually fighting.

Against Dwalin, Thorin had a chance to pull off the fancier moves that were mostly reserved for rituals.

Those intricate steps, when used in a duel situation, exhausted Thorin faster than any regular duel and Dwalin was happy to provide.

Another quick two step, slice, and Thorin was darting forward, trying to get into Dwalin’s weak spot.

Dwalin didn’t hesitate to twist his blade around and Thorin disengaged, pulling back as he took a secondary swing.

Sweat was already clinging to the Heir Under the Mountain and Dwalin knew he was not faring any better.

Two more intricate steps, a lunge and then it became a traditional duel.

No more darting steps, no more quick hits and dashing back, or past.

None of it.

Left hip block, head strike, disengage, right shoulder block, left shoulder block, groin block, catch fist, and then Thorin was twisting and Dwalin found himself on his back, a sword tip pressed lightly against his jugular.

“Do you yield?” Thorin demanded.

“Yield to you? A stripling of a prince? Whatever would my brother say?” Dwalin returned and Thorin tried to glare, before he let out a soft puff of a laugh, pulling back at that.

“A draw then,” Thorin answered and held his hand out for Dwalin.

“A draw,” Dwalin answered as he took the hand.

He was standing again and they headed to the side to take care of the practice swords before they put them up. “Is it so bad?” Dwalin asked, as they moved to replace the swords.

Thorin sighed and almost seemed to twirl the sword around before he stared at the wall. “Were it not for the whispers, I would think nothing of it, but this blight on the land, this lack of food, has whispers rising up against our King, my father. They say he is too old, too weak, to hold the throne. That his failure at Moria proved that and I am sorely tempted to remove the beards of those that say so,” Thorin answered softly and sighed.

“Were it any other time, I would think nothing of it. A minor inconvenience, at best, for my mother was blind when she married my father and I would never spurn my intended for that which their body dictates. What…what makes me so very angry is the fact my father approved it when this is not a good time for it! There are whispers enough, and those eager for war, a successful war, will take this as the reason they need. This supposed insult, using Bilbo’s deafness as a weapon against the throne. For _that_ I am angry,” Thorin continued softly and Dwalin huffed.

“Nothing will come of it,” Dwalin stated.

“You can promise me that? You can promise me that those whispers won’t turn to drums of war?” Thorin demanded softly and Dwalin shook his head.

“Then I will continue to be angry. Because Father should never have allowed it, and _Balin_ never should have picked him! Not when he can be used as a weapon against my family,” Thorin snapped.

“Balin picked ‘im fer a reason Thorin, and you know it. He would never have picked the Hobbit if he wouldn’t help Erebor in the long run,” Dwalin responded.

Thorin just cut the air with his practice sword before he returned it to its spot. “It is late,” Thorin murmured and quickly left the training room, Dwalin not far behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....
> 
> From June 2nd to July 2nd all of my fics will be on hiatus so I can focus on my original work.
> 
> When I return on July 3rd, I will have some chapters ready to post, but seriously...original work.
> 
> Like, my own novels.
> 
> (I wanna get published, which means writing EVERYTHING I have in my had that is original works and throw as many darts as I can till I get published and then hopefully convince my publisher to publish _everything_. I am looking forward to this.)


	18. Wedding Ceremony Lessons (Food Hoarding)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is food hoarding in this chapter by Bilbo.

Bilbo sighed as he lifted his left wrist until it was parallel to the tip of his ear, his fingers curled over in a loose fist, the other arm curled around his back so the back of his right hand was against his left hip bone which, unfortunately, jutted out like the Party Tree out of the Party Field.

It was hard against the back of his hand, practically bone against bone, and Bilbo could not  _wait_  to get his healthy weight back.

He had been cleared by Óin, barely, that morning. Bilbo had been immensely relieved that that meant he could begin all the various stressful and physically exhausting lessons that were involved with the marriage ceremony.

 _Especially_ since it meant that they didn’t have to postpone the wedding. Thank the Green Lady, because Bilbo didn’t think he would last if the wedding didn’t take place in three (four if he included today) days. Right now, however, Bilbo was hungry and tired and just wanted to eat and pass out instead of practicing this stupid dance like he had all morning.

Across from him, Ori, the scribe that had been assigned to Bilbo to help him around Erebor, mimicked Bilbo’s movements. The wedding dance was apparently something all Dwarves, except those of the lowest birth, learned. And since Bilbo was a Hobbit, he did not, in fact, learn this in his childhood. Luckily, it was a rather simple dance, and much easier to do than to have it explained to him why  _another_  would make promises  _for_  him.

_I promise Bilbo, after your wedding night, I will explain what those words mean, as one of your many lessons will be our language. It would not do for the Consort to the Heir to be without knowledge of our language. And until it is known for sure the marriage is consummated on your wedding night, I’m afraid I cannot translate the vows._

Bilbo had commended Ori, quietly, about how fast and clearly he wrote, which had caused the scribe to flush in embarrassment. And now he was practicing the wedding dance, with Ori standing in as Thorin (though he did not say so aloud), wishing he was eating instead of doing this.

The scribe was very brilliantly red and Balin was laughing as he nodded to the musicians to the side to begin playing. Bilbo startled a bit when he felt the rhythm rumble against his feet and he nodded a bit before Balin had him focusing up at Ori. He had learned the steps, in a manner of speaking, earlier that morning, and as Ori stepped forward with his outside foot, Bilbo countered with his inside and soon they were turning in a circle, their only point of contact at the wrists.

As Ori’s confidence began to waiver, however, Bilbo found that he took the lead. By the time they had to go the other way, Bilbo was firmly in the lead, giving Ori a, hopefully, comforting smile as he shifted his feet so he stepped with the outside first instead, as was supposed to happen after they “switched places” as it were. They continued until it came time to grasp the partner’s wrist, instead of the wrists just touching, and that was when Balin separated them.

Bilbo had, luckily, been told that this would happen before hand, as he could only do the next part of the dance with Thorin, otherwise he’d be married to Ori instead. Apparently Balin was enough of a witness to make it so, which had Bilbo, mentally, wondering if this meant for Dwarven ceremonies where dancing with someone in a certain way could be considered marriage. However, with the end of the dance lesson, Balin proclaimed Bilbo’s dancing “passable” and Ori was more than happy to return to his seat so they could continue their lessons.

Thankfully, for Bilbo, lunch was brought and lessons were put on hold. As they ate, Bilbo barely noticed how he took one of the two, flat, semi-sweet brown biscuits and wrapped it in his handkerchief before returning the handkerchief with its prize back to his the pocket of his dark green vest with pale green diamond print across it.

*~*~*~*

After lunch, Bilbo was rushed to his meeting with Thráin by Balin, Bifur and Ori following close behind. Once Bilbo was settled into the small room, Balin apologized for leaving him, and quickly did so.

Bilbo frowned at the way Ori sat on the ground near him, but it was the only way that, while sitting, Bilbo could read his writing. Bifur had settled behind him and when Thráin entered, Bilbo stood.

Thráin waved at him to sit back down and Bilbo obeyed while Thráin sat down heavily, covering his mouth with his hand while his shoulders shook slightly. Behind Thráin his own guard, as gray haired as Thráin, stood against the wall and Bilbo swallowed a bit at how different everything was from the Shire.That one could not even meet a friend without a guard at the shoulder, though Thráin’s was at his left shoulder, not his right, told Bilbo enough of the culture he was marrying into.

Thráin smiled as he lowered his hand and nodded, Bilbo’s eyes already flickering to the paper as Ori wrote.

_Bilbo, good to see you again so soon._

A gentle tap at his elbow told him Thráin was waiting for an answer. “It is good to see you as well, your Majesty,” Bilbo answered politely and Thráin waved a hand at him.

_Please, call me Thráin. You are about to marry my son and here, standing on ceremony is unnecessary._

“Very well, Thráin,” Bilbo answered gently and Thráin seemed quite pleased with this turn of events.

Then Thráin frowned a bit and Bilbo glanced down at Ori’s paper as the beard began to move.  _I was wondering if you wished for another Head Guard_.

Bilbo’s hands tensed slightly against the chair’s armrests against his will and he could practically _feel_ the tension roll off of Bifur. Bilbo swallowed nervously, even as he began to shake his head before he could manage to calm himself down enough to actually speak. “No, no. Bifur is perfect where he is,” Bilbo answered, though he wasn’t sure if Thráin heard him, he knew Bifur had.

He also knew when he spoke those words that they fell short entirely of how he felt in regards to Bifur. He trusted Bifur, in this mountain full of people he did not know, to keep him safe. He trusted Bifur more than anyone else in his life right now and it would be a cold day in the Stone King’s forge on the same day a blight struck the Green Lady’s fields, and all the Starkindler’s stars fell from the sky before Bilbo willingly let Bifur be taken from him.

Something must have shown because Thráin just gave a nod in return.  _I thought it might be easier on you._

“Your Majesty, I cannot hear a single thing. There is very little that can make this new life easier on me,” Bilbo corrected, and this time, he knew he was loud enough, maybe too loud, because his throat hurt a little.

But it stopped Thráin’s misguided attempts at trying to be helpful and they moved onto other topics. He liked Thráin, he did. He was just so very tired of people acting like he couldn’t take care of himself.

He did just fine, on his own, for nine years before he met everyone here. He was a capable Hobbit who could take care of himself, thank you very much!

(That night, when he finds the semi-sweet biscuit in his handkerchief, he slumps onto his bed and resists the urge to cry. He knows that when he hoards food, he knows he’s cold, hungry, or stressed.)

(He knows he’s all three.)

*~*~*~*

Bilbo let out a low groan as he slumped into the chair in his temporary rooms next to fire and glanced over when he saw a flicker of movement that revealed itself to be Bifur. Specifically it revealed itself to be Bifur settling on the stool instead of the second chair.

“I will sit on the floor if you do not move to something more comfortable,” Bilbo threatened tiredly, but he knew it wasn’t decipherable.

Nothing was ever decipherable when he was exhausted and in pain. If he had known they just wanted him to escape, he would have been done with the hand-to-hand faster.

Dwarves!

Did they have _no common sense whatsoever?_

Merciful Lady give him strength! However, Bifur seemed to know what he was saying and moved a chair he could get out of quickly while Bilbo just slumped exhaustedly in his own chair. “Two days, when I wake up tomorrow, to the wedding. Do you think it would be remiss to just hide for the next two days instead of going to lessons?” he inquired as he looked over at Bifur, feeling as if he would never be able to move again.

If he was one to bruise easily, his bruises would have bruises. As it was, he would need to soak in a very hot bath if he wanted to be able to move tomorrow. Bifur, however, nodded and Bilbo sighed as he closed his eyes, just relaxing in Bifur’s presence, reassured that everything would be fine.

Bifur was there. Bilbo tries not to think too hard on the fact he trusts Bifur far more than he trusts Balin or anyone in the guard that is apparently to become his in two days’ time, or really…anyone.

He’s not sure he would be able to handle the full truth of that statement just yet, despite the fact he’s accepted it as a fact.

(That night, when he emptied his pockets, he found scones and some of that dried meat that had been given to him by Óin.)

*~*~*~*

_Do you have any items made with the pelt of an animal you’ve killed?_

The question throws Bilbo for a loop and he eyed Balin as they eyed the ceremonial garb that had been altered for Bilbo, though a few things had actually been made, such as the royal blue tunic and the brown leather vest. And the grey leggings.

The wedding almost had to be postponed for that, in fact, and Bilbo eyed the brown trousers that would show off the leggings, but were partially hidden by the tunic. He was already refusing to look too closely at the royal blue tunic and the silver thread that decorated the collar and cuffs in six sided oval-like things.

He recognized the pattern and color as something that Thorin wore. He ignored it, because it was gaudy and tasteless, but he was marrying into their culture and it was not an entirely equal marriage, was it?

Thorin was not expected to learn Bilbo’s culture’s ways and he resisted the urge to cry over that again, instead swallowing quickly and focusing entirely on Balin. “ _If_ I did, would anything happen to it? Would I lose it? Would it be damaged?” Bilbo asked, his mind going to his coat lined with the fur of the White Wolves that had helped kill his mother.

 _No. Just shows an ability. It would be kept perfectly safe in the room you would change in before being escorted to the Wedding Chamber_.

It wasn’t the first time Balin had mentioned it and Bilbo wondered why there needed to be a specific room for that, but he sometimes didn’t want to know. Most of the time, however, he did and he did not like having secrets kept from him.

“Yes, I do. You saw it. The coat I packed in my bag,” Bilbo answered and tried not to think too much on it.

His father had made it for him, specifically tailored to fit him when he grew up as well. There was enough, salvageable, pelt for that. At eleven, he had barely been able to lift the boar spear, let along make clean cuts. He glanced over at the elbow tap and raised an eyebrow at the words.

_When did you go hunting for white wolves?_

“I didn’t. I just…killed a few. I…well, I wasn’t particularly good at swinging the boar spear around. I was…small. And I seriously hurt myself while doing so, but only three wolves in the clearing weren’t my kills,” Bilbo answered hurriedly and he knows he tripped over words, or didn’t say them at all, but he doesn’t care and he feels his hands twitch at his sides.

He wants to cut his hair, but he’s been told he needs it long for the ceremony and he practiced his braiding, in secret, on Bifur’s hair when he learned he would have to add a braid to Thorin’s head.Bifur hadn’t minded, so long as it wasn’t clasped and Bilbo hadn’t, instead having Bifur hold up the handheld mirror while he worked on it.

Instead he ignores the tap, twice, before he looks over at the paper Ori has scrawled on. Beneath Balin’s question, _What happened?_ , is Ori’s question.

_Are you okay?_

“I don’t like to talk about it,” Bilbo responded softly as he shook his head slightly.

This time, Bifur did not tap his elbow again.

(That night, after finding a lot of scones and those semi-sweet brown biscuits in his pockets, Bilbo had nightmares about his mother’s death.)

(When he woke the next morning, it was to the realization that tomorrow was his wedding.)

*~*~*~*

The morning of the wedding, with everything about the ceremony memorized and everything perfectly settled in his mind, the first thing Bilbo did was rush to his water closet and throw up from nerves. Bilbo wondered if this was a bad omen for his future marriage or not.

When further thought just made him far more nervous than his thoughts had the right to make him, he just focused on getting through the day. Like getting the ceremonial garb.

That was a good place to start.

With a deep, shaky, breath, Bilbo stood up, rinsed out his mouth till the vomit taste went away, and left his water closet.

It was time to get ready.

When Balin came to gather him up an hour later, Bilbo was sitting nervously on the chair by the fire, wringing his handkerchief in his hands to keep from doing the same to his tunic. When he pulled on the jacket his father had made, it brushed the back of his heels and, for the first time that morning, Bilbo thought he could do this.

(That thought left when he remembered that a wedding was followed by a wedding night, and he clung desperately to his coat as Balin lead the way, Bifur as always joining at Bilbo’s right shoulder.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter of the story so far.
> 
> YAY!


	19. Wedding Ceremony (Angst)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what is ironic?
> 
> I wrote out all these ceremonies, worked out reasons Bilbo wouldn't be allowed to speak his own vows (Khuzdul vows that Bilbo can't know till after he's married, because Secretive Dwarves are Secretive).
> 
> Most of it?
> 
> I don't get to write it out. This part _refused_ to write _unless_ it was in Bilbo's POV.
> 
> All this work.
> 
> And I only get to use like, 1% of it.

Bilbo took a shaky breath as Bifur disappeared from his right shoulder as they neared the great doors leading to the room Bilbo would get married in and, instead, focused entirely on Balin.

The white haired Dwarf smiled and pat Bilbo's shoulder, though it did little to comfort him. "I think I am going to be sick," Bilbo stated, feeling the bile start to rise up in the back of his throat, again.

When Balin's forehead furrowed, Bilbo  _knew_ he hadn’t spoken clearly enough. With this in mind, Bilbo was starting to think it was a good thing that someone _else_ would be speaking his vows for him, because he was sure that he would otherwise horribly mangle the words he needed to say.

(In the back of his mind, he sees Lobelia’s snide remarks about how no one wishes to marry someone who is as likely to trip over their own tongue as say the word needed, and he _truly_ did not need that at this moment, especially when it makes his chest constrict slightly and that sick feeling grow.)

When Balin nodded to the door, Bilbo isn’t sure he can go through with this.

That maybe they should postpone the wedding at least till spring, maybe summer, but it is too late to ask this, Bilbo knows this to be so.

So, instead, he takes a deep breath and shoves all thoughts of the Shire, of Lobelia’s sharp face, of his father’s gentle gestures (of his grave), and his dim memories of his smiling mother (and the clear memories of her grave). He pushes them away into a little box to deal with later, because now is not the time and he focuses intently on making sure his face is like the calm stillness of glass.

He straightens and holds himself as high as his three feet eight inches can allow, and he gives the smallest nod to show he is ready.

Balin focused forward, no longer Balin of the road, or Balin who could be called a wise friend, but Balin of Erebor, and that was someone Bilbo didn’t know well at all.

Balin nodded once and the two door guards in plate armor, the chest plate decorated with a raven in flight that covered a majority of it, pulled two levers simultaneously and the two great doors to the room opened with not even the hint of vibration.

Bilbo swallowed at that and took another deep breath as the room beyond the doors was revealed.

Filled with natural sunlight (which Bilbo nearly heaved a sigh of relief over as he had never before gone so long without _any_ sunlight), he could see the veins of gold racing through the grey rock like rivers through a forest. The ceiling is high, so very high, and it like _nothing_ Bilbo has ever seen before.

When his eyes finally pull away from the ceiling, it is down into the crowded room he would have to walk through, in a manner of speaking.

The walkway that had been described to him by Balin is lined with people and suddenly it seems far longer than it was described. The destination, an altar at the top of some steps, seems more like a pinprick then something he can actually define (though his sharp Hobbit eyes easily pick out the fact that yes, that altar is probably made of near solid gold and _why_? Gold is a soft metal, and Bilbo is a _Hobbit_ and knows this, just like he knows he’s trying to fixate on something, anything, that is not the _sea of people_ that fill this room).

He takes another deep breath through the clenching _vice_ that seems to have settled around his rib cage, and focuses on Balin’s back so he knows when he has to move.

They stand still and Bilbo almost begins to worry that something is wrong when he felt a vibration through his feet.

It was one he knew enough to recognize, for when he wandered his rooms these past two nights when awake far too early, he felt the dawn bell vibrate under his feet.

This was the same vibration, though much closer and buzzier than when he was in his rooms.

Which explained Ori’s confusion and surprise over Bilbo asking about the vibrations in the morning at least.

The stone must carry it well and he was forced out of his thoughts as Balin began to walk forward.

And Bilbo followed.

As he stepped into the walkway, he was overcome with relief over the fact he was deaf.

He was nervous enough without having to hear the whispers that were probably filling the hall.

Up the walkway he walked, flanked on both sides by people he did not know, and he focused ever harder on Balin’s back, keeping his steps measured so he never got too close, nor fall too far behind.

As he stepped free (finally) of the walkway, and into position (a bit less than one meter away from the base of the steps where Balin was stopped, thus completing the first part of this ceremony), just as a flicker of movement at the corner of his eye drew his attention.

He glanced over with only his eyes, only to find that it was _Thorin_ that had drawn his attention.

Thorin, who looked as if he was decked out for ceremonial war, and was far more impressive than Bilbo could ever even _hope_ to be.

His armor was finely crafted, though possibly more for decoration than actual war, and over the armor was a wide shouldered, yet sleeveless, fur-lined, coat that matched, in color, Bilbo’s own tunic, though it had paler blue interlocked circles decorating the cloth.

His hands were at his side, showing off leather glove like things with metal across the back that looked like two ravens clutching their claws together as they plummeted to his fingers, beaks first, which drew Bilbo’s eyes (though his head never moved from ‘looking’ straight ahead) to the end of the sword peeking out from under the coat.

It reminded Bilbo of the one from the bandits’ hoard that he had seen Balin hide away on one of the pack ponies.

Eyes still traveling down, Bilbo saw that their trousers matched and that Thorin looked far better in clothes better matched than Bilbo did, for his coat had been made when mourning clothes were easily accessible, making his coat black from the thick cloth and white from the fur.

It embarrassed him, now that they so obviously stood apart in this, but he forced his eyes forward, back to Balin, and refused to look over at Thorin again until it was time.

He focused entirely on Balin, remembering what Balin had told him what the articles of clothing meant.

The fur-lined coats they shared were for kills, traditionally using the furs from one’s first kill, though sometimes it was just from the most magnificent kill, in both terms of the creature and in how it was acquired.

Killing anything just for the pelt to line your coat with was frowned upon, and Balin had tried to worm the story out of Bilbo, but Bifur pointedly placing himself between Balin and Bilbo had ended the questioning.

It was something that Bilbo was immensely grateful for, as it was, he had already spent last night in a nightmare, though not a harsh enough one to wake him.

It probably attributed to him waking up vomiting, however.

Eyes still fixed on Balin, he kept half his mind on the ceremony. The other half focused on the translating what Thorin’s garb meant so he could learn about his soon-to-be husband.

The furs represented the ability to protect the spouse from natural harm, so in that they would be equals.

The armor was valor in battle. It showed the ability to protect the spouse in times of war, so in that Thorin would be the sole protector.

Lovely.

The wearing of the sword was…what he excelled in, that was it. The weapon of his choice, the best item to use to protect, and Bilbo having nothing was…probably not a good thing.

The leather glove things with metal along the back, from wrist to just below the elbow was…that he had an Earned Name, or something like that.

 _Mantle_.

Those things meant that Thorin had a Mantle, something to go with his Face Name, his Heart Name, and his Title.

That…that was a little daunting, to be honest, and Balin’s beard was still moving.

Wonderful, he would have to stand, like this, until Balin gave the subtle hand signal to walk forward so he would move simultaneously with Thorin (outside foot first), so that they were together, even if apart.

He was sure the culture significance of that would be explained to him later, but first he just waited, calmly, for the motion.

In the corner of his outside vision, something silver flickered, but he did not look, did not glance over, just focused on Balin, making sure to keep Balin’s near hand in his focusable vision.

The vice was tightening around his rib cage, but he kept breathing through it, purposely keeping it long and slow.

That now took up half his attention and, _finally_ , came Balin’s subtle hand signal.

The training was rewarded as he and Thorin walked simultaneously up to Balin. When they reached the steps, Bilbo nearly heaved a sigh of relief as they were halfway through part two.

He didn’t, however, and it had nothing to do with propriety, but everything to do with the fact that he didn’t think the vice around his ribcage would allow him to remain standing if he did so.

He watched Balin, proud over the small smile hidden in Balin’s beard, before Balin turned away from them to accept the braided work of cloth with metal thread winding through it from a Dwarf with bright red hair that was easily a little less than twice Bilbo’s height.

Balin gave a small nod and then turned back to them before he carefully looped one end around the right wrists, carefully, before he pressed the free end of each side into their palm.

Bilbo gave a twitch of a smile as he grasped the end in his hand tightly and Balin gave a tiny smile in return.

Bilbo continued to force his breathing to be calm.

Once they were connected by the braided cloth thing, Balin lead them up the steps and Bilbo was suddenly very thankful they didn’t force him into boots.

He never would have made it up the stairs with his eyes forward like this with them on.

He didn’t know how Thorin did it and instead they came to stand two steps below the altar, and Balin, who stepped aside while Thráin stepped up behind the altar.

Of _course_ Thráin was going to marry them.

Which meant they were into part three, which included the vows, which were then sealed with the ‘Braid of Promise’ that was then clasped with a plain clasp given by the other, in a manner of speaking (especially since Bilbo had no clue how to forge) to show the beginning of their new lives together.

Apparently on the year anniversary, a line was etched down it, carefully and thinly, in hopes that the lines would never meet before death to show eternity.

It was oddly romantic and filled Bilbo with hope, which was probably why he remembered it the best out of all the meanings.

Luckily, Bilbo had a year to learn how one did that so he could do so with his own bead. Or was it that he did the line on Thorin’s?

Well, that was a year from now, not now, so he would focus on Thráin as he thought about what was after the braiding.

Right.

After the braiding was the evil dance that Bilbo was truly starting to hate with a _passion_ usually reserved for weeds in his garden, though that was after some walking.

The dance which took place in front of the altar, while still attached apparently, which was slightly disturbing.

He hoped he didn’t accidentally strangle Thorin, as that would truly put a damper on their relationship, to put it mildly.

When Thráin paused, Bilbo felt a small tug on the rope and he turned to look at Thorin to find that Thorin met his gaze at the same time.

Oh, they were supposed to face each other now.

Probably at a key word, but at least Thorin had the foresight to think of something that would draw Bilbo to the proper point, which Bilbo was thankful for.

He gave a tiny smile at Thorin and hoped it would be understood, even as Balin maneuvered himself around so he stood below them on the steps.

With deft movements, he carefully tied the braided, decorated, rope to their wrists and then produced a plan rounded clasp from seemingly nowhere.

He handed it to Thorin, who gave a quick nod and then a Dwarf Bilbo didn’t know (young, had more beard than Prince Kíli, and Bilbo internally winced at that) came up with a bowl of what seemed to be water.

Thorin immediately dipped his fingers into the liquid, carefully, and began to work on Bilbo’s curls down the left side of his face, in front of his ear.

He shivered minutely at each accidental brush of knuckle against his ear as Thorin soaked a large section of hair before he began to work the braid into his hair.

Bilbo could feel the gentle tug as Thorin slowly braided it close to his skin starting at the forehead, and back along the skull slightly, before it went over the ear, and then Thorin seemed to make it start curling around the back of his ear. He paused, momentarily, and shifted before he continued, the intensity of his focus making Bilbo’s breath start to hitch as Thorin slowly twisted Bilbo’s curls into the braid until it hung against Bilbo’s neck.

He shivered again as the cold of the clasp touched his neck before it was secure and then it settled slightly against his neck, warming slowly.

Bilbo shifted his head minutely, and hoped Thorin would move the braid later, maybe make it so that it could be _off_ his neck.

Later, however.

Right now, he was being given his own clasp and Balin’s eye glance to the bowl told Bilbo he had to mimic Thorin, though he knew he didn’t have to do the braid like Thorin, thankfully.

Bilbo could not reach that high and he would not ask Thorin to bow his head to him, not at the wedding when they should be equals.

Instead, Bilbo was careful as he dipped his fingers into the liquid to discover it was a type of oil, and then he stood up on tip-toe, ignoring how it hurt his calves, as well as the top of the ball of his feet where his toe joints met said ball, and he began to gather up the hair, carefully.

It was soft under his fingers, and well cared for, of course. Dwarves, he had found, could be vainer than a Bracegirdle on their wedding day when it came to their hair and beards.

Bilbo could not fault them for it, for their beards and manes of hair suited the Dwarves in a way he had not seen it suit any other. Beauty could be found in all things, when it was within their manner.

A pine tree did not look proper in a cave, and a finely cut diamond did no one any good when it was blacked with soot.

He was sure, outside of their mountain, the dwarves would not be able to keep their beauty as it was.

Bilbo found his fingers moving of their own accord as he worked the braid into Thorin’s hair, ignoring how his legs were starting to tremble slightly from the pressure he was putting on them. All that practice with Bifur paid off as he carefully set the braid where it could be proudly worn, yet not interfere with his other braids, or cause distraction.

A distracted warrior was a dead warrior, and Bilbo would prefer his husband alive, thank you very much.

As he reached the end, he clasped it, fumbling slightly to get it around Thorin’s braid, before he slowly, relievingly so, settled back on his feet proper.

He felt his muscles trembling under the skin, but when he glanced at Balin with his eyes alone, there was an approving smile on his face.

Something tensed and frightened relaxed at that and Bilbo barely managed not to smile in return.

Instead, they turned forward and slowly made their way up to the altar. With the braided rope around their wrists, Bilbo wasn’t sure if they could still do the dance, but he shouldn’t have been as worried as he was, for as they maneuvered their way into position, he found with Bilbo in position first, as he practiced, allowed Thorin to turn so that the rope only connected him to Bilbo at the wrist and where their left wrists met.

As they began, Bilbo walked in the proper circle while the memory of the vibrations, for he could not feel them now, guided him. When they reached the switch, Bilbo seamlessly spun toward Thorin, removing the braided cord from around him, and Bilbo became untrapped when they turned to switch wrists, for they turned toward each other and with their left wrists touching now, the braided rope fell in such a way that it wrapped partially around their arms, linking them closer.

Then it came time for the part of the dance that had only ever been described to Bilbo.

He took a deep breath as they shifted their hands and gripped below where they were tied together and Bilbo swallowed before they stepped into each other’s space. He stared up at Thorin, feeling the way the rope was slowly uncurling and then came the odd twirl part that Bilbo really wished that he could have practiced somehow.

Slowly he spun so that there was the entirety of the rope free, except what was tied to his wrist, and stood still, like a tree in a plain, or a rock in the middle of a stormy sea, or even like the mountain that they stood in.

He faced Thorin and then he understood why there were scheduled steps for Thorin, but not Bilbo.

For, as he stood there, like the Tree on the top of the Hill, Thorin began to almost wrap the pair of them together with the excess until they were tied together in a tangled, slightly odd, embrace of rope, not actually touching, but almost touching.

Together, yet separate, even when bound together by a complex weave.

And in that moment, Bilbo believed that everything was going to be okay in the end.

The feeling only intensified when Thorin bent down, slowly, keeping his grip on the rope a perfect tension the entire time so that he did not either pull Bilbo into stumbling or cause the rope to go slack to carefully press a gentle, chaste, kiss Bilbo’s lips.

Even when the kiss was followed by vibrations making the soles of his feet buzz and brought about the realization that Thorin was going to be his first _everything_ in these regards.

The thought made his shiver a little and he was thankful when the rope was tugged before falling from their wrists into a pool around their feet.

It meant he wouldn’t have to stand so close to Thorin anymore, and he’s sure he can’t handle being this close with that realization ringing through his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my head, I made Thorin 4'10", Dwalin is 5' (both on the taller end of the spectrum for Dwarves).
> 
> Balin is shorter than Thorin at 4'8", and Bifur is 4'9".
> 
> They're all _tall_ Dwarves.
> 
> Bilbo is, as mentioned, 3'8". Thorin is one foot and two inches taller than him.
> 
> Also, I know what vambraces are, but Bilbo doesn't. He knows they have a name, but right now he just remembers the description, and is going to call them the long glove-things till his mind catches up with his panic.
> 
> (Also, I _really_ want fanart for this. Just...anything in this. I'm willing to beg.)


	20. Wedding Banquet

Bilbo wasn’t able to, fully, get his wish for space, as he was escorted, left arm linked around Thorin’s right elbow, his free hand pressed against the outside of Thorin’s elbow, on Balin’s urging, to the banquet hall.

There, they settled at a pair of thrones with a table between them on a dias a tier below Thráin's own throne, which had a table, but no secondary throne.

Considering the slight feeling of slide that Bilbo got when he sat down, he had a feeling that Thráin had had the secondary throne removed as these didn't feel like permanent fixtures. He was contemplating the water and ale that was on the table next to him when he felt something brush against his coat.

He looked over, only to find Ori, in his full court regalia of thick long robes of lavender with silver along the cuffs, high collar, down the front, and around the hem in a complex interlocking weave of squared ovals and lines, reminding Bilbo of chains (which made him uncomfortable), settling on his scribe stool practically at Bilbo's feet.

It, uncomfortably, reminded Bilbo of a loyal pet, which made him feel nervous and upset, as well as ruining his appetite.

Despite his interest in the outfit, especially with the addition of purple ribbon to Ori's braids, he was concerned about why Ori was here, especially sitting on his "scribe stool" and well within Bilbo's reach.

With that in mind, Bilbo didn't hesitate to gently tap Ori's shoulder, even as he felt the faint vibration of music begin, a quick glance telling him that he wasn't needed, and Ori turned to him with a smile.

Bilbo shifted his head to the festivities questioningly, not trusting his voice to work and Ori seemed to resist the urge to pull a face before he wrote his response.

_This gives me an excuse not to be out there when my eldest brother, his name is Dori, ultimately comes up to bother me. My brother Nori volunteered me for the duty._

Bilbo gave a frown and tilted his head to the side, earning a nod before Bilbo sat up normally, smiling at how he could still see the written words. He looked over at Thorin, only to start slightly to find Óin there, glowering at him.

He swallowed nervously and did not hesitate to accept the bowl that Óin gave him. The healer’s beard, and mouth (though the mouth was so covered Bilbo had no chance of figuring out what the Dwarf was saying), were moving so Bilbo risked a glance at Ori’s paper.

_You will eat that. You will not touch any alcohol. If you eat anything that is too heavy and get sick, I will lock you in the infirmary for a week. If you drink any alcohol, I will lock you in the infirmary for fortnight, is that clear?_

Bilbo nodded in agreement and then gave a small, polite, nod of his head, glancing worriedly at Ori even as he did so, but Ori just gave a tiny nod. With that, Óin strode away and Bilbo worked on drinking his soup while he drank water that Thorin had poured for him.

There was not an uncomfortable silence between them, not on Bilbo’s end at least, but there was no ease either.

Bilbo mostly kept his eyes to the banquet hall, noticing a group of Dwarves in the corner and would subtly touch Ori’s shoulder before flicking his fingers in their direction, Ori picking up quickly on his subtly.

_They’re troublemakers. They don’t particularly approve of this match, but they’ll cool in time. They don’t have a leg to stand on._

Bilbo raised an eyebrow at him and tapped his foot.

They didn’t have a leg to stand on _yet_.

Bilbo could already see how this would not pan out well for the Royal Family, which was partially his fault, in a way. Not really, because it was not like he could change the fact he was _deaf_ , but he could see how it would be.

He could see how this match could be seen and he hid a frown behind a mask of calm as he sipped his water before he continued to eat the soup Óin had given him, along with some warm brown bread.

(Bilbo pretended not to notice Thorin’s small frown over Bilbo eating “peasants’ bread”, as it was scathingly called, but Óin shoved it at him and only fools argued with a healer. And Bungo Baggins did not raise any fool.)

Bilbo watched as dancing began in earnest and was surprised when he saw Fíli, Thorin’s heir (though how that worked he was sure Balin would explain to him later), the blond amongst the reds and blacks and browns, bow to a red haired Dwarven lady dressed in dark greens veined in gold.

She smiled, her beard braided back up into her hair, and when Bilbo tapped Ori’s shoulder, he didn’t even need to point.

_That is Lady Namia, a Second Line Princess the Firebeard Clan of the Blue Mountains, and betrothed to Fíli. They’re rather adorable, and their courting is going rather well. They met by chance two years ago and Fíli had requested permission to court her personally. She slapped him, they had a duel, and it ended in a tie. She said ‘yes,’ then. Apparently she was waiting for someone to match her in dual swords. Their arguments are something to behold._

Bilbo smiled at that and watched the way Fíli easily began to spin her around the room, the pair obviously dancing a jig to the heavy beat that was playing instead of the ceremonial drenched proper one Bilbo was _still_ tired from.

By the Life-Giver, he really did hate that dance.

He looked up when he felt a presence come near him and found himself looking up at Kíli, who spoke with Thorin for a few moments before Thorin glanced at Bilbo and said something. He glanced at Ori, who wrote, _Kíli wanted permission from Thorin to dance with you. He’s not of Age by Dwarven standards, so he’s allowed to dance with you before consummation, but he needs Thorin’s permission. Thorin said it was all right so long as you felt comfortable for doing so. He’s now waiting for you to look up so he can ask properly, than do the bow. I suggest saying ‘no’ as Kíli has two left feet, but risking your toes would make him happy._

Bilbo gave Ori a look, and Bilbo _knew_ the scribe was giggling internally like a Hobbit tween having just pulled a successful prank, before he focused on Kíli.

“Would…honor…dance?” Kíli asked and then bowed properly, holding his hand out.

Bilbo hesitated, still very tired as it was, before he glanced at Ori, giving a nod.

_Take his hand and stand. He’ll lead you true. Just watch the feet._

Bilbo nodded and smiled before he took Kíli’s hand, standing up from the throne as Kíli straightened, surprise and glee on his face.

Not the bad type of glee, like Took tweens, but the good type of glee, like one that often filled Bilbo’s being when he was a tween and other tweens at the dances around the Party Tree would grab his hands and drag him into dancing.

It was with that thought in mind that allowed Bilbo to relax about being dragged out onto the dance floor by the younger prince.

Kíli never once stepped on his toes.

Ori was very impressed and congratulated Kíli on his improvement, which had him puffing up like one of Farmer Maggot’s proud roosters. Bilbo resisted the urge to kick them both until Thorin sent Kíli away.

Kíli pouted, but went, though soon he asked permission to join Bilbo, or Ori as it were, and sat there, leaning back on his hands, watching the dance with carefully concealed wistfulness.

And if, upon seeing that Bilbo risked Óin’s wrath further with a dance, or two, or _five_ well…

No one was really counting, were they?

(And somewhere between dance three and four, Bilbo had missed Ori's eldest brother, but Ori reassured him that was all right.)

Eventually, however, the banquet had to wind down and, eventually, Bilbo would have to join Thorin in the Wedding Night Chamber, which was in the Royal Wing.

When Thorin stood and extended a hand to Bilbo, he took it and that was that.

Ori packed up his scribe things and Kíli trotted away to go tease Fíli about the Lady Namia most likely.

As they left, Bifur appeared almost immediately, as if summoned (which made Bilbo feel infinitely more secure in this situation), and they left the room.

The touch, Thorin’s hand cradling Bilbo’s own, was quite chaste, especially with the knowledge of where this night was going.

Bilbo was baffled that he wasn’t already glowing red, but instead still quite cool faced and he took a deep breath as they reached a ‘crossroads’. Bifur stepped up and carefully tapped Bilbo’s shoulder, telling Bilbo it was all right to part and he did so, walking away from Thorin as he mentally reviewed the proper way to do this.

A robe, somehow tailored to fit Bilbo, would be there. He would, with Bifur’s help, get out of his garments (though Bifur had made Ori write to Bilbo about the screen and that Bifur would not help more than Bilbo felt comfortable with), and into that robe, before he was escorted to the room by Bifur, where Thorin awaited.

They would then consummate the marriage, with a witness (in a manner of speaking, as Bilbo didn’t think whoever it was, was going to be in the room _with_ them), and they would stay in that chamber till morning.

When morning came, they would part and return to the original chamber, bathe, and collect themselves. When they left, they would meet where they first parted on their way to the wedding night chambers and go enjoy a, semi-private, breakfast together.

Bilbo just hoped he’d be able to sit through breakfast.

And ‘semi-private’ made him far more nervous than anything else at the moment.

As they entered the room, Bilbo slipped behind the screen the moment Bifur nodded to him that everything was all right and began to hand things to Bifur (though he made sure the bread he had wrapped in a cloth napkin was hidden in the inner pocket of his wolf fur lined coat), omitting his small clothes, before taking the robe from Bifur.

He wrapped it securely around himself and but his smalls under his pile of clothes on the stool before he took a deep breath, facing Bifur, safely hidden in his robe.

Taking a deep breath, he nodded that he was ready and Bifur lead the way through a secondary door that seemed to lead deeper into the mountain.

Bilbo shivered as the cold crept up his feet and he resisted the urge to pause so he could rub the bottoms of his feet against the tops.

Why did mountains have to be so _cold_?

He picked up his speed as he followed after Bifur, and soon he found himself in the chamber, which was light well enough to keep Bilbo from tripping over his own two feet, but not so bright that he would feel embarrassed, though he’s not sure if it is accident or design.

Thorin is there, of course.

He’s across the room, on the other side of the bed specifically, and Bilbo feels his feet twitch on their own, nerves dancing and jumping.

He knows what has to happen now, but that doesn’t change the fact he is nervous.

He waited his whole life for someone who would love him honestly and truly, instead of pretending to his face while laughing at him behind his back. He had saved his kisses and more, for someone who would smile at him like he was precious, instead of smiling at him in pity.

Only to have them all bartered away in one marriage contract to a distant kingdom and, were he a different sort of Hobbit, he would be bitter.

As it is, he knew what he was bartering when he agreed (even if there had been pressure on him to agree), but it is only hitting him now.

Everything that he’s kept for that one person is going to someone he barely knows and he barely keeps himself in the room with Thorin, instead taking long, deep breaths, when movement drags him from his introspection to an unexpected sight.

The sight of Bifur not heading back through the door they had just come through, but the dark wall, or what Bilbo thought was a wall, surprised him.

Especially when Bilbo realized that it couldn’t possibly be a _wall_ when Bifur pulled back a section of it enough to slip through. But no matter how fast Bifur is, he is not fast enough to keep Bilbo from seeing the chair _s_ and Thráin’s shoulder, and what is possibly Balin’s back, and…

It clicks into place then everything Balin was hinting at and he immediately covers his face as he tries to wipe the image from his mind, but he fails utterly, because one line is burning itself into his brain.

 _A marriage into_ any _royal line, but most especially the Line of Durin, must be witnessed as best as able_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original chapter was deleted as it was meant to go with the Chapter 22 that changed to explain what was explained in that chapter.
> 
> My apologies for the triggery content even with it heavily tagged. It was not necessary for the Chapter 22 posted.
> 
> Apologies, once again, to my readers.


	21. The Morning After (Panic Attack)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally Gentleheart was supposed to return to this chapter.
> 
> Gentleheart refuses to behave for anyone but Bilbo.
> 
> This is pretty much what I expected.
> 
> So Gentleheart and the return of Bilbo's POV is in the next chapter.
> 
> Please enjoy.

Bilbo slowly finished drying off before his eyes fell to the stool with his clothes on it, still behind the screen.

He knew that Bifur was on the other side, that if he called, Bifur would come around, but Bilbo would prefer if he didn’t.

Bilbo didn’t think that he could handle that right at the moment and he slowly pulled the towel around himself tightly before he began to carefully pull the pants off the stool.

He nearly heaved a sigh of relief when he felt the Shire fabric under his fingers instead of Dwarven replicas, and the thought has his throat tightening. He shivered with suppressed feelings and took a moment to collect himself before he worked on getting dressed. He bit back whimpers of pain as the soreness struck all over and it took longer than it should have, but he was dressed.

When he has his clothes from the Shire on, it is to the realization that his coat is under it all and he doesn’t hesitate to pull it around him, burying his nose into the fur. He took a deep breath as he closed his eyes, clinging to the coat, and within the fur, he can smell Bag-End.

He shivered at that and buried himself further, trying to hide himself away from the moment while he worked on figuring out how he felt, overall, emotionally, about this. But instead, all he could do was compare how very much _different_ it was to his life in the Shire, to what life might have been in the Shire.

Anything in the Shire, really.

He shivered and hid more as it continued to hit him, running through his mind until he found he couldn’t stop shaking.

He bit his lips and tried to keep all sound locked inside him, but failed as he felt a vibration run up from behind his sternum, up his throat, to end buzzing behind his nose. He shivered and shuddered as the sound came again and he tried to hide further.

He nearly screamed when a hand touched his head, but when he opened his eyes, the only one there is Bifur.

Bifur, who was frowning behind his beard and when his head tilted slightly, Bilbo felt the dam break.

It hit him, with that look, and the fact _everything_ was different, and he began to sob. He buried his face into his cuffs and hands, hoping he could shove the sounds back in.

He stayed like that for a moment, maybe two, before he was suddenly being pulled into a hug.

He didn’t have air to squeak but then he is being held tightly by Bifur, and when he twitches in pain, everything still far too sore, Bifur works on the pain in his shoulders and back.

He doesn’t work lower, or try to ease some pains, but Bilbo has transferred his muffling to Bifur’s chest, trusting the guard to keep him safe.

He doesn’t know what from and despite last night, he trusts Bifur with everything in his being still.

When Bifur’s chest begins to vibrate under his head, and there is a shift of cloth, of everything, that warns him before he felt Bifur’s hand in his hair.

The familiar catch of calluses against his curls is comforting and he sobs harder into Bifur’s chest before he slowly began to calm down. It took time, with a lot of patience on Bifur’s end, but in the end, Bilbo is able to let Bifur go.

He stood back, shaking and shivering. Bifur hesitated, his hands on Bilbo’s shoulders before he stepped away.

He then grabbed a clean towel, and soaked it in cold, yet clean, water before he began to carefully dab at Bilbo’s face.

Bilbo can’t stop the laugh, though it catches in his throat, oddly, and Bifur’s beard twitched in a smile that wasn’t really there, nor was it happy.

Probably like the laugh Bilbo gave.

When Bifur pulled away, Bilbo is sure that there is no sign left on his face that he just sobbed like a child into Bifur’s chest. He flushed in embarrassment and looked away, but Bifur merely knocked his knuckles, gently, against Bilbo’s forehead before shook his head, as if he knew what Bilbo was thinking.

Considering how both seemed to prefer using gestures and subtle shifts in their talking, he probably did.

Bilbo took a steadying breath then and, slowly, nodded.

He wasn’t sure when he’d be able to feel comfortable while being in the same room as Thorin, but he was semi-ready to face him, at the very least.

As it was, it took a few moments before Bifur nodded in return and headed for the doorway, Bilbo bundling up further in his coat before he followed.

Soon, Bifur dropped back to Bilbo’s right shoulder and then they were there.

Thorin is waiting, with Balin, and he seems to be somewhat impatient.

Bilbo give an apologetic head duck and carefully takes the offered arm. They leave the hallway, finally, and head further into the Royal Wing.

Bilbo is more thankful than he can express.

*~*~*~*

Thorin shifted for the fifth time in the last minute and Balin gave him a look. “What is wrong?” he asked and Thorin shook his head.

“Something was wrong,” he stated and Balin frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“Beyond this entire farce?” Thorin snapped and Balin shot him a look, which earned Balin a growl.

“Even you tried to get more time, despite the fact you _suggested_ the marriage, you suggested it with the belief that you would have time, only for you to learn that we’d only have four days! We should have had spoken, something, _anything_ , but we didn’t! Beyond that…I don’t know, but something was wrong, I just don’t know what!” Thorin snapped, even as he shifted again, leashing his desire to pace.

Balin frowned at that. “Surely he would have done something if he was uncomfortable?” Balin questioned and Thorin rolled his shoulders as he shook his head.

“Something was wrong, I felt it last night and I should’ve listened,” Thorin snapped.

“Throin, everything is fine. He would have done something if it wasn’t,” Balin reassured and Thorin resisted the urge to slam his head back.

He was missing something, he knew it, but what he didn’t know. Something slipping out of his mind and Mahal, curse it, he wished Dori had been available to talk to him the past few days.

But Dori was prized above all others and if he wasn’t busy, he had been spending time with his brothers, or maybe even just doing something by himself. Maybe even visiting with someone he cared about outside of his brothers.

Thorin had no reason to call upon Dori that would be accepted.

It wasn’t expected, or proper, for the member of the Royal Family to remain in contact with their Courtesan Teacher.

Once the teachings were done, they went their separate ways and, maybe, if neither were married later, would meet again on completely professional terms.

Having tea in the living corners, speaking with his family members, giving birthday presents to them…

If Thorin had ever been, officially, discovered, his father would have had a fit, despite his slight flaunting of the rules _now_. Dori could have lost his position, which Thorin still felt guilt over, but now the marriage…

He sighed distantly and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Thorin?” Balin questioned.

“Something’s wrong,” Thorin stated and stood up.

Balin was about to speak again, when Bilbo came around the corner. Before Thorin could inquire upon what took so long, he noticed the slight hitch in Bilbo’s step and felt the frown before he could stop it.

He hadn’t thought he was that rough, but maybe Bilbo was more sensitive?

When Bilbo gave an apologetic head dip, Thorin held his elbow out, and they made their way, slowly (more for Bilbo’s benefit than Thorin’s), to the breakfast.

“Do you think we’ll have everything ready for Bilbo tonight?” Balin asked as Thorin made sure there were more pillows for Bilbo’s chair before he settled down.

Bilbo smiled in thanks at that and settled in for breakfast. Óin seemed to come out of nowhere and hovered.

Thorin focused on Balin for the question and frowned. “Everything?”

“Thorin, today is Durin’s Day,” Balin answered with a smile and Thorin wondered if maybe he had heard wrong.

“Today cannot be Durin’s Day,” Thorin responded and Balin nodded while Thorin tried to think before he looked over at Bilbo.

“Balin, he can’t. He doesn’t know the festival and there’s no _time_! What was Father thinking?” Thorin responded and Balin nodded.

“No, he is not,” Balin agreed and they focused on their breakfast.

Thorin watched Bilbo out of the corner of his eye as they ate and when they parted, Thorin hesitated before he looked to Bifur. “Make sure he gets to Óin,” Thorin ordered and nodded at Bilbo, before he was being dragged out by duties.

The likelihood of him seeing his husband for the rest of the day was…not high.

He sighed.

He would rather be unmarried still.

In the end, it would have been much better for his, let alone _Bilbo’s_ , peace of mind.


	22. The Meaning of Names

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can skip this, as this is basically me waxing poetic (in a manner of speaking) about my last chapter.
> 
> One of my favorite things about the previous chapter was that set-up. We have Durin's Day, so now everyone has a time, and we have the fact they were married, and consummated, on Durin's Day Eve, with their first (full) day of marriage being on Durin's Day itself.
> 
> It also revealed things about Thorin, and whew boy, they have a long, hard, road ahead of them on fixing this relationship into being a good relationship.
> 
> It is salvageable, but it is basically going to be broken to the point they'll need to melt down the remains and make something anew.
> 
> However, look on the bright side; Thorin will never force Bilbo into anything. If Bilbo says, "No," Thorin will back off so fast he might actually trip over his own feet.
> 
> (But Thorin, who has been active, as opposed to Bilbo, who has not, and we can see why Thorin is going to be getting short-tempered in a bit.)
> 
> But yes.
> 
> ~~Also, rating upped because of Chapter 21.~~
> 
> Due to the removal of the original Chapter 21, the Rating has dropped back down to Mature

After a visit to Óin, Bilbo found that he was being given a crash course for the banquet and celebration for tonight (Durin's Day was their New Year, and very important, so Bilbo was sure to pay extra close attention, knowing he was at a severe disadvantage for not having grown up with the customs), as well as a run-down of what the vows made for him meant.

The no cheating on each other one was a relief to Bilbo's being and much of the weight he hadn't even realized he was carrying on his soul was gone.

Not all of it, but most of it, and working through lunch on all of this was tiring, and he hadn't seen sun in what felt like  _months_ at this point, and Bilbo put his foot down.

"I want to see Gentleheart," he stated, his lips and tongue not wanting to cooperate.

He stumbled over his words twice more before the third time repeating himself was understandable enough that he was able to get his wish understood.

He had missed the pony. Had missed caring for him and just being around the creature that Bilbo had considered a true friend, and he wanted to be there again. Run a brush over his coat and get tangles out of the mane while the pony ate his morning meal.

There was stillness as Bilbo's words sunk in and Bilbo stared at them in return, refusing to budge.

He felt Bifur's presence at his back and Balin, slowly, nodded.

Bilbo gave a tiny smile in return and was given a quick rundown of greetings used for each group of people, but as Balin was in front, and Balin was using the same greetings as Bilbo would have to use, he relaxed about, even as he diligently practiced.

He was still not worried about this part, but only just.

*~*~*

When they entered the stables, it was organized chaos.

Something was obviously happening as even _Thorin_ was there, storming about, one hand flying. He glanced at Bifur, when he saw that at the center of the commotion was a blindfolded, and lassoed, Gentleheart.

The gelding was rearing and plunging, trying to dart forward and, at times, dragged a Dwarf with him before trying to break free.

He didn’t hesitate to move forward, ignoring Balin’s attempt to grab him and pull him back and ignoring even his husband’s attempts at that.

However, when a Dwarf that was not Bifur managed to lay a hand on him, Bilbo did not hesitate to kick back at the knee, hit below it and rolled the Dwarf over his back before he continued, Gentleheart having stilled, sides heaving.

He immediately began to make pointless noises, and was at the gelding’s head before the blindfold was removed, each hot breath ruffling his curls.

The moment Gentleheart’s vision returned to the gelding, he immediately pressed his head to Bilbo shoulder, earning a scratch on his cheek while Bilbo worked on getting the lassos off, holding onto Gentleheart’s mane before he pulled gently, leading the gelding away.

He ignored the shocked looks of the Dwarves as he moved, instead focused on getting Gentleheart cooled down, and then brushed off.

“Dwarves,” he muttered and Gentleheart’s nose shoving into his hair suggested the pony agreed.

More sense than all of them combined, Bilbo was _sure_ of it.

*~*~*

“What was _that_?” Thorin questioned as Bilbo walked off with Gentleheart, who was now as gentle as a newborn lamb, Bifur at Bilbo’s heels.

“Bilbo walking off with Gentleheart,” Balin answered and Thorin sighed as he covered his face.

“What did he do to the groom?” Thorin questioned as the groom slowly stood, shaking out his leg.

“He went for the knee, and missed, getting just below it instead, and then used the Dwarf’s momentum against him so he rolled over his back. It was an automatic reaction he had when the groom grabbed him to stop him. Considering Bifur warned him first, it really was expected,” Ori explained as he worked on his writings.

Thorin let out a sigh and gave a nod of consent.

“It seems my husband has a spine of steel,” Thorin mused softly and frowned a bit.

“The clothes he’s wearing don’t fit him well,” he added.

“He’s lost weight. Óin is going to be making sure he gets healthy again, don’t worry Thorin,” Balin answered and Thorin sighed.

“When will I have you back as my advisor?” Thorin asked.

“Once Dís takes over,” Balin promised and Thorin nodded a bit as he glanced around.

“Everything should be fine now, your Highness. That pony though, he’s a menace,” the Head of the Royal Stables stated and Thorin nodded in agreement.

“But he is the Heir’s Consort’s chosen mount and he seems to care for him a great deal. Ori, have you been permanently assigned to Bilbo?” Thorin questioned, not looking away from where Bilbo had wandered.

“Yes, your Highness,” Ori answered.

“Make sure his schedule always has time for that monstrosity in pony form, or I fear for the safety of the Royal Stables. Dwalin, we need to be ready to speak with the head of the Moneychangers’ Guild in half an hour,” Thorin stated and began to stride away, Dwalin appearing from the shadow as he went.

Hopefully, despite the side trip, Bilbo would be prepared for the festivities tonight, as well as moved into Thorin’s rooms.

He sighed.

At least nothing could be hidden from Bilbo anymore and his education wouldn’t be stinted by the need for secrecy.

As the Heir’s Consort, he had every right to all the knowledge within Erebor, even Khuzduhl (though a few hardened traditionalists, ones that now had louder whispers in the corners of their great halls, felt he should earn the right as Eöl of old did). What he could not be told by blood, he could now be told by marriage.

He just had to hope Balin chose true in Bilbo and instead focused on his upcoming meeting with Glóin.

Hopefully the meeting would not take too long despite the delay the Royal Stables had caused Thorin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter; Durin's Day celebration...festival...thing.
> 
> Also, sorry for the rush, it just refused to slow down or write differently.
> 
> Silly chapter.
> 
> (Today, I was the Mindy to this chapter's Buttons. Oh...wait...no I wasn't. I was Buttons. I'm _always_ Buttons. Poor Buttons.)


	23. Durin's Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me!
> 
> Happy birthday to meeeee, happy birthday to me!
> 
> I have decided to be a Hobbit for my birthday so for the next six days (including today), I shall be updating one random thing a day!
> 
> YAY!!!!!

The high collar of the dark blue tunic rests uncomfortably against Bilbo’s throat and makes Bilbo think of a cold winter that he would rather forget, though the silver threads have long warmed to his skin.

The tunic falls to his knees, the unseen under shirt tucked into brown trousers that reached his ankles, which was very unnerving to Bilbo, who was unused to anything brushing around his ankles.

His feet were still bare, because there were no boots that fit him properly and Bilbo couldn’t walk right in them anyway, but that was the only normal feeling thing about his attire.

The vest is a dark leather to match the trousers, even if they aren’t close enough for anyone to compare with a feather pattern stamped into it and belted close with a thinner belt than the one Thorin wears, but otherwise matches, and over it all is his white wolf fur lined coat.

It is more layers than Bilbo is used to wearing and he wishes he could get rid of some of them, but he doesn’t dare.

Durin’s Day is a time of tradition and, even though he’s on the outskirts of tradition, he must still maintain it.

Despite the oddity of Bilbo’s own marriage to the Heir Under the Mountain, it was apparently somewhere between common and uncommon that those outside the race of Dwarves married _into it_ , as it were, during previous Ages.

Bilbo was the first of this Age to marry a Dwarf, a very Tookish thing indeed, and Bilbo was sure Gandalf would have readily approved of such a venture, had he known of it.

Bilbo was not inclined to tell him and he did not desire knowing what would happen once the Wizard found out.

He let out a sigh and he rubbed his face before he focused on the silver circlet that was on the pillow.

That silver circlet met in point in the very center of his forehead, or would when he put it on, and rose up slightly to settle within his curls. The center jewel was a deep blue-green opal, and at his temples were two rounded, small, deep sapphires. The entire design made Bilbo feel as if he should shove it away, but he knew he couldn’t.

He was going to have to, eventually, put the gaudy thing on.

Bilbo sighed and lifted the circlet up in his hands, turning it to find that there were diamonds nestled within the silver, along the fine metal that was like twisting threads instead of actually crafted metal.

Bilbo sighed over it and glanced up in the mirror, letting out a sound that grated against his throat when he saw Thorin in the doorway to his dressing room.

He spun around, clutching his circlet to his chest, eyes wide.

Thorin held his hand up and ducked his head slightly, almost apologetically, except he didn’t seem like the type to apologize unless he did something grievous.

Bilbo distantly wondered what Thorin would consider so grievous that he _would_ apologize, but Thorin is striding towards him, and Bilbo realizes he’s still clutching the circlet to his chest.

He flushes with embarrassment and carefully loosens his grip on the circlet.

It is undamaged by his grip and he smiled a bit before he turned back to the mirror to settle it on his head, only to find Thorin had come closer. He turned back around, still holding the circlet, and shifted his head curiously to the side.

Bilbo blinked in surprise as Thorin stepped closer and his husband carefully took the circlet from his grip.

He said something, but it was lost to the beard around his mouth and the shadows before he carefully removed the circlet from Bilbo’s grip. He settled it on the pillow and carefully reached up, Bilbo tensing slightly at the action.

Thorin frowned a bit at that tense, his forehead furrowing slightly, and Bilbo shifted his head slightly, not wanting to be apologetic even when he felt as such.

It was not _his_ fault that he felt nervous around Thorin.

He had barely seen his husband at all and the one time, after breakfast, that he had Bilbo was sure had been purely by chance. Even still, Bilbo managed to relax and Thorin went back to fixing his braid, adjusting it slightly so it did not brush so irritatingly against his neck.

Bilbo smiled in obvious relief and relaxed fully, even as Thorin shook his head. This time, Bilbo managed to catch some of the words, “Why…me,” but had missed everything in between.

Bilbo ducked his head slightly, and Thorin carefully settled the circlet on his head.

Only now did Bilbo notice the crown that rested on Thorin’s head and the fact they matched, almost, in their appearance once more. A united front, similar yet different.

At least that was how Bilbo decided he was going to view all of the similar clothing.

Thorin held his elbow out to Bilbo, not expectantly or in any manner that suggested that Bilbo _had_ to take it, but Bilbo disliked walking the halls alone. To him, the halls of Erebor were an unconquerable maze, and he placed his hand on Thorin’s elbow. Thorin walked out then and Bilbo smiled as Bifur took up his spot at his right shoulder, while a heavily muscled, and tattooed, Dwarf settled at Thorin’s left.

At Thorin’s right side, Bilbo allowed himself to think on everything that was needed, even as he already began to fumble it within his memory.

Taking a deep breath, Bilbo couldn’t stop the relief that filled his being when Ori appeared out of thin air practically, already writing at breakneck speeds so that Bilbo would have the rundown he needed for this feast.

In the Shire, it would have been called a _festival_ and Bilbo wondered what a Hobbit feast would be called here.

His curiosity burned even as he nodded his thanks to Ori and then they stepped into the brightly light hall, the sounds of merriment a vibration under Bilbo’s feet.

*~*~*~*

Bilbo hid his frown behind his goblet as he watched a pair of Dwarves in the corner, ignoring the gesture language he did not know, but paid attention to the language he did.

Their body language.

Thorin was bent in talk with one who could have been his twin, and Bilbo, sitting on his cushioned throne, focused on those across the room, though he kept his stance relaxed. No need to notify anyone else of the trouble over there and he set the goblet to the side before he leaned forward to tap Ori on the shoulder.

The scribe immediately turned to him and watched where Bilbo glanced, immediately letting his quill fly.

_Abomination, sitting on the throne next to our Heir. What was the King considering?_

Bilbo tapped Ori’s shoulder and made a cutting motion. Ori stopped and wrote another thing.

_That is Blue Mountain Iglishmêk. It isn’t from here._

Bilbo nodded and then made another cutting motion.

Ori’s jaw dropped, about to protest, but Bilbo gave him a look before Ori's nose scrunched slightly and he worked on scratching through transcription so it was unreadable while Bilbo went back to watching the crowd, smiling brightly when he saw the lady Fíli was betrothed to pulling Kíli out into a dance.

He pretended not to pay attention to those at the edge of the rooms, all having similar sorts of conversations.

Which lead to Bilbo thinking of his own question; why did Thráin push for this marriage when it would obviously cause dissent?

Bilbo breathed out slowly through his nose and then focused on the festivities around him, even as his eyes wandered, easily picking out those who were less than pleased, to put it mildly, with him being the Heir’s Consort.

And mentally, Bilbo marked them all and wondered if this dislike would ever ease.

*~*~*~*

In the shadows at the top of the hall, a red haired Dwarf with tri-peaked hair watched the Heir’s Consort with interest as the deaf Hobbit picked out every whisperer with unerring accuracy.

He watched as the Heir’s Consort did not make a move that suggested he suspected anything and he leaned back. “It seems I have found the one I shall report to,” he stated with a grin as the newly appointed Spymaster of Erebor stared at the member of the royal family he would be reporting to.

“Tra-la-la-la-la, and welcome to the valley,” he sung softly and spun his knife around before he disappeared from the shadows just as the Head of the Heir’s Guard looked up.


	24. Lessons of all Sorts

Dís, Princess-Under-the-Mountain, was an impressive Dwarf by any Dwarf’s standard.

She filled the room with her presence, as she had been taught since birth, and could hold her own in both political and physical battles.

She stood equal to Thorin in height and many thought they were twins, and that was something she used ruthlessly when the Guild Masters acted up, which they did often.

And the Guild Masters were the very reason Dís was dreading teaching Bilbo the duties of Consort-Under-the-Mountain.

The Guild Masters were all lame horses' asses and they needed a personality check. And she wasn't sure if Bilbo could deliver it or not.

Especially as it would take an act of Mahal to get them to accept Bilbo in any capacity outside of ‘annoyance.’

*~*~*

"Thrice-cursed lazy sacks of mulch," Dís snarled as she crossed her arms while Bilbo leaned on the arm of his chair to respond to some of Ori’s questions, Balin slipping in now that the Guild Master conference was over.

Mostly because it dealt with Guilds that reported to Dís instead of Thorin, though they would now be reporting to Bilbo, with Dís as the Hobbit’s advisor.

Not that Balin’s job was done by any means, but it was going to be less consuming as Dís took over.

She startled, slightly, when someone touched her arm and turned to find it was Bilbo, who merely just shook his head lightly at her. She growled and he smiled before he turned back to Ori. “What about him?” a stuffed, slightly slurred, voice asked and Dís turned in surprise to face Bilbo, even as the sound of a quill scratching across parchment filled the air.

“Well…he really should be replaced. His son is a much better clothier than him,” Ori explained and Bilbo let out a sigh at that, leaning back in his small throne.

“You can talk?” she demanded, before she remembered that he was deaf.

Instead she was surprised when Bilbo turned to her and nodded. “I hate to though,” Bilbo stumbled out eventually, though it took him a few tries to be understood.

He sighed and shook his head at whatever Ori had written, and tapped the page. Ori frowned and there was more scratching. Bilbo let out a tuneless hum and shook his head, breathing out through his nose.

He then motioned and Ori moved around to sit between them while still writing. “Bilbo is trying to figure out how to change the Clothier Guild Master without stepping on any toes,” Ori explained and Dís sighed, her fingers curling over her mouth.

“No way. Unless proved incompetent, or shown to be so. His son would not be the best replacement, if you want a long vein through the rock, then you’ll need someone else. He’s like his father, only more unyielding,” Dís stated.

Bilbo frowned and Bifur suddenly rumbled out, “Even the most unyielding of metals can be melded under the right conditions. Bilbo is surprisingly good at it.”

Bilbo turned to Bifur and it was then that Dís realized Ori had translated what they said to smile at Bifur, who just settled against the wall. Bilbo shook his head at his bodyguard before he focused back. He then leaned forward and took spare paper from the table and wrote on it before passing it to Dís.

“You think he’ll appreciate it?” she inquired, rather incredulously.

Bilbo nodded and then stood with an inquiring twitch of his head. Dís nodded in agreement and they immediately stood to put together Bilbo’s office, Bifur easily, and quickly, taking up his position at Bilbo’s right shoulder.

Bilbo spent the entire time outlying his plan, Dís quietly correcting any social faux pas he might accidentally make.

For a Hobbit who had grown up in peace, he was doing marvelously well.

“Thorin’s lucky to have you Bilbo,” Dís murmured.

She’s surprised when Ori doesn’t write it down, but then again, he might have not heard.

(She did not see the tiny notation Ori made in the corner, or Bilbo’s self-deprecating smile and tiny one-shouldered shrug he gave Ori in return.)

*~*~*

Dís huffed softly as a knock echoed through her chamber, hoping that it was her sons. If it wasn't, someone might lose a braid.

Or three.

Guild Masters always put her into the  _worst_ of moods.

“Who is it?”

 _“It is I, your wonderful and adoring son!”_ Kíli answered, followed shortly by a yelp of pain, probably from Fíli smacking him upside the head.

She rolled her eyes at her sons’ antics before she opened the door.

Fíli was standing perfectly at rest and Kíli was grinning unashamedly at her. “Amad!” Kíli chirped out and she, gently, smacked him upside the head before she ushered them in.

Once inside, she nudged her forehead against her sons, Fíli first, than Kíli, who immediately nuzzled into hugging her. She smiled as Fíli hugged her as well before she pried her sons off of her. “Yes, yes, I love you two as well, now, I have called you in here to speak about some things,” Dís stated and Kíli perked up.

“Is it about Uncle Bilbo? Because Fíli and I think we should teach him Iglishmêk, but he’s almost busier than Uncle Thorin!” Kíli explained and Dís smiled at her youngest son while the eldest stared at his brother in surprise.

“Exactly that Kíli dear. It would be much easier and, this way, the Guild Masters can’t complain about that at least. And Adad needs to ease up on Thorin if he wants this marriage to work, because they barely have time to breath, let alone actually _talk_ ,” Dís responded with a frown.

“About that Amad. Why did Ugbil-Adad approve this marriage? It has caused more problems than solved, politically, and the Durin line is known for longevity. The likelihood of Uncle Thorin spending the last decades of his life, alone, like Ugbil-Adad is quite high, and none of the council with two exceptions even likes him,” Fíli asked and Kíli rolled his eyes, but did not vocally protest.

Dís sighed at that. “I would suspect Gold-Sickness, but…the Shire is not known for its material wealth. All of their wealth comes from the land, in herbs, spices, and crops, even animals, over gold,” she responded.

Fíli nodded in agreement while Kíli scuffed the toe of his boot against her stone floor. “Yes Kíli?” Dís questioned, only to earn a tiny shrug from her youngest son.

“Well, start tomorrow. Try to catch him in his office. He’s going to be going over reports, but if the door is closed, leave him be, is that understood?” Dís answered and Fíli gave a nod, with Kíli following shortly after when Dís, and Fíli, gave him a look.

She couldn’t help but wonder, however, what it was that her young son thought he had to hide from them, and if it had anything to do with any ideas as to the reasoning behind the political marriage between Thorin and Bilbo.

And if so, she hoped he would speak up soon, because any idea was better than none at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugbil-adad = Greater father, or the closest I could come to "grandfather" or Thrain.
> 
> The use of Khuzdhul words is to show that that is what they are speaking in.
> 
> (However, rule of thumb; unless it is to Bilbo or from Bilbo, it is probably Khuzdhul, and only Khuzdhul with Bifur.)


	25. Bridging the Gap....Hopefully

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter was the day after Durin's day.
> 
> And yes, that is how busy Thorin is.
> 
> Also, this chapter was edited after I woke up, so rereading it might be a good idea.

It was two days after Durin’s Day before Bilbo managed to move into Thorin’s chambers properly.

Thorin could do little else but watch as Bilbo moved what he had brought from the Shire into the open places that Thorin had made in his chambers, internally wincing at how little Bilbo had from his home.

They would need to get more of his things, because anything less would make Thorin’s already horrifically strained patience snap.

His husband should feel comfortable and safe here, and he didn’t. Even though it was against tradition, Thorin was going to have to ask for at least one of his other rooms to be made into a temporary bedroom.

Not that there was anything to tell him if Bilbo even spent the night with him or on the sofa, as Bilbo, even on Durin’s Day night, had been up past when Thorin was asleep and dressed the next morning before Thorin awoke.

However, the main reason his skin itched over the lack of things was due to the fact that there was nothing to say that Bilbo had been moved in, not really.

Their chambers did not say they were a married couple's chambers and, while he was annoyed that Bilbo did not come near him during the time he moved into Thorin’s chambers, he still felt like something was wrong, that something was missing.

That he had somehow screwed up, and it was something important that he shouldn’t have missed, but four days…

Was that it?

Was the lack of time and no foreseeable free time in the future what was getting him? He had never rushed a partner to bed as Bilbo had been rushed, something that Thorin still felt guilt over, but he had just wanted to get the stupid witnessing over with.

He hated the tradition and if he could, he would be shifting it so that when Fíli went through his political marriage, there would be no one in the bloody room with him.

No one needed to go through with that and Thorin mentally cursed his sister for escaping that fate when she married for love.

Any who said being royalty had no drawbacks needed to be royalty for a week and see if they still thought that at the end of it.

Now, however, Thorin finds that Bilbo is beyond his reach and he’s wishing his father had let them have _time_.

Time would have been lovely.

Time was a necessity that they did not have, and it was starting to grate on Thorin’s nerves to the point that, as Bilbo ran his thumb along the edges of a square box, Thorin let some of his frustration out in the manner he always did.

By snapping at the person closest, which was, unfortunately, Bilbo.

“Why did I have to get saddled with you?” he demanded and sighed as he ran his hand over his face.

“That’s not fair to you, is it? It isn’t like you maneuvered this,” he muttered and he walked over to where Bilbo was still running his thumbs over the lid of the box.

He moved around till he was in Bilbo’s eyesight range, hopefully, and reached out to touch Bilbo’s shoulder.

The Hobbit still started, but he looked up, eyes wide, which made Thorin flinch. He sighed, trying to think of how to fix whatever he had done, before he realized that he had no way to communicate with Bilbo.

He held up his hand apologetically before he looked around, his eyes landing on his desk. He gave Bilbo a quick quirk of his lips before he walked over, quickly writing out, _May I join you for lunch?_

He then rushed back over to Bilbo and held it out to Bilbo, who blinked down at the paper in surprise before he looked up with a tiny smile. His eyes searched Thorin’s and then nodded a couple of times before he stood up. He reached out for Thorin’s wrist, hesitated and then pulled back.

He nodded again and then he turned, already dressed for a day of working on reports, pulling on his white wolf fur trimmed coat on as he went, and Thorin groaned before he clenched his fists.

Mahal curse it, why couldn’t he _ever_ talk to Dori when he needed to?

*~*~*

Bilbo smiled as he carefully freed Gentleheart’s mane of tangles, watching the way the gelding seemed almost half asleep as he continued working, noting that the grooms kept as far from the gelding as they could.

It would amuse Bilbo, if he wasn’t worried he would come down to the stables one day and find that Gentleheart had killed someone and needed to be put down. He tugged on the pony’s halter and he lifted his head to stare at Bilbo with one toad-like eye.

Bilbo lifted an eyebrow, sighed, and fished a carrot piece out of his pocket before he placed in the flat of his palm, grinning when Gentleheart lipped it out of his palm before chomping on the treat. Bilbo smiled and pat Gentleheart’s neck before he moved to the tail.

He did not see how all of the grooms tensed as Bilbo began to work on untangling the tail, humming tunelessly as he did so.

Gentleheart never so much as twitched, content to stand and let Bilbo remove the tangles from his tail.

Bilbo then turned to Bifur and nodded to Gentleheart. Bifur shook his head and then made a motion like the sun rising and setting, the cheat symbol they used for tomorrow, and Bilbo nodded in agreement.

He then scratched Gentleheart’s cheek and grabbed onto a long piece of his mane behind hid ears before leading him out.

The grooms scattered before Bilbo and he rolled his eyes, following Bifur to release his pony into a field.

However, the moment his feet touched dirt he backed up a few steps, Gentleheart easily going with the tug, stilling next to Bilbo.

Bilbo who gave a full bodied shudder before he walked forward, gritting his teeth against the sickness that rose up under his feet from the dirt before he turned Gentleheart out into the field.

The gelding hesitated, though Bilbo gently smacked the gelding, getting the stubborn creature moving before Bilbo hurried back to the stone, scrapping the bottom of his feet, carefully, off against the stone.

If he didn’t have to do that again anytime soon he would be a happy Hobbit.

However, he would have to bring the gelding in that night.

He doubted any of the grooms would go near his Gentleheart.

(And Bilbo was rather happy with that thought.)

*~*~*

Bilbo sighed as he rubbed his forehead with his fingers in small circles above his eyebrows.

Who had made these reports?

They needed to be fired.

He sighed and looked up from the reports and straight at the bell from Bag-End which he had placed there after brushing Gentleheart.

It was of Dwarvish make, just like the chime set-up, made by one of the Dwarves that had come to Bag-End all those years ago. He was the heaviest set of the companions, close-cropped beard, and long hair braided back like a crown.

When Bilbo, barely turned seven back then, had expressed a desire to watch the Dwarf, and the Dwarf had frowned, Bilbo had immediately retreated.

He was used to people not wanting him around. It wasn’t like he could keep time to dances or sing, or do anything that other faunts did to pass the time. Hide-and-Seek was near impossible for him to play and Thain Says was, in fact, impossible and they were the most popular games.

Conkers was the only thing he excelled at and it soon got him alienated as well when he bested the rest.

So, even at his young age, he was well-versed in when people didn’t want him around.

Dwarves, for all that they could not gesture in the gesture language of the Hobbits, and Bilbo could not read their lips in the slightest, were as easy to read as the other Hobbits.

So Bilbo was quite surprised that afternoon when, while sitting on the bench, reading (books didn’t judge him or mock him or exclude him) he was suddenly lifted into the air.

He remembered panicking and clinging, and he thinks he may have cried, only to find that it was the Dwarf that had picked him up.

The Dwarf who was going to make the bell, if his mother had gestured right, and then the Dwarf tapped Bilbo’s ear.

Bilbo had nodded in agreement and the Dwarf nodded.

And that was that.

Bilbo sat in the corner of the forge, watching with awe as the bell was shaped.

When it broke some years later, specifically that the clapper somehow cracked, no one could repair it.

Bilbo wasn’t even sure how it broke, but now it sat, useless.

As Lobelia put it, ‘what use did a deaf hobbit have for a bell that would ring properly?’

Then she went into how ‘what use was a big smial to a bachelor hobbit,’ and it would get worse from there.

He smiled weakly at the bell, pulled from distant memories, and ran a finger along the carefully engraved base of the bell when a flicker of movement, a flash of silver, caught his attention from the corner of his eye and he turned quickly, only to still at the sight he found.

For there was a Dwarf with tri-peaked auburn hair standing there, and everything about him was _unique_.

From the _eyebrows_ braided into his hair and the beard just as intricate he was dressed in a dark colored cloak that would fade into the shadows of the mountain.

Bilbo pulled back and the Dwarf held up his hands in a non-threatening manner and there was a glimmer of silver.

The knives.

He wore _knives_ all over, but they seemed to be decorative over practical ( _seemed_ being the key word), and gave a small bow.

Bilbo was already fingering the knife Bifur had given him to slip into the empty space in the desk, and the Dwarf seemed to know that was what he was doing.

But all the Dwarf did was set a sealed letter on the chair that Ori had sat on not even half an hour ago, if the pendulum clock was anything to go off of, and quickly retreat.

Bilbo heisted before he picked it up and opened it, reading it between eye darts, though the Dwarf never shifted his neutral, obviously non-threatening position.

That did  _not_ make Bilbo feel any better, though the letter was quite interesting to say the least.

_Greetings Bilbo Baggins,_

_My name is Nori, Spymaster of Erebor. I’ll be taking this when we are done, and don’t talk about it._

_A known Spymaster is a dead Spymaster._

_Now, you mostly deal with squabbling Guild Masters, and you will probably take up Elfish Ambassador care-taker duties as well, but with the Princess around, she’ll take the bulk of your duties, mainly because they won’t trust you to do your job till you force them to see it, but we’ll just keep that under wraps, shall we?_

_The more people underestimate you, the more dangerous you will be._

_But I am sure you are wondering what this is about._

_Well, all Spymasters get to choose who they report to, and there is no one in the_ Dwarvish _part of the Royal Family that I would feel safe reporting to._

_They’re blind as bats in the sun during a landslide._

_But you’re not, which is refreshing._

_Very refreshing._

_And I have a feeling, between the two of us, we’ll have a very nice little web of informants, you and I._

_It’ll be fun._

_So…what do you say?_


	26. Shadow Walking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I edited the previous chapter, so a quick reread might be beneficial, if you desire.
> 
> Also, this is just a quick bridging chapter.
> 
> (It refused to grow longer.)

Bilbo stared at Nori in surprise, mouth working uselessly for a few moments before he waved Nori closer. The Dwarf smiled and settled on Ori's chair as Bilbo tried to get his words to come out intelligibly. "Why me?" he questioned and Nori gave a smile before he held his hands out of the letter, which Bilbo handed back.

The Dwarf immediately used a spare quill to write his answer and turned it around to Bilbo.

_You’re the only one who is observant enough._

Bilbo opened his mouth to argue before he sighed and covered his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose in hopes of staving off his headache. He looked up at Nori, who was waiting and Bilbo let out a long, low, sigh, before he nodded in agreement.

“If I’m the best you can find, I fear for Erebor,” Bilbo mumbled out.

He must have been understandable, because Nori grinned brightly before whirling to the door suddenly. He scowled and then he was gone, on the outside of the door, letter already disappeared, as the door opened to admit Bifur first, then Thorin, followed by Dwalin.

Nori had already tugged his hood up and was now one with the shadows, pressed into a corner out of sight, even as Bilbo focused entirely on Thorin. He twitched his head and smiled, carefully slipping from his tall chair. He stood next to Thorin and, hesitantly, wrapped a hand around Thorin’s elbow.

He nodded toward the door and Thorin gave a quirk of his lips under his close cropped beard and they left.

Bilbo just hoped Nori slipped out all right.

*~*~*

Nori let out a low sigh of relief, thankful that someone had knocked on automatic reaction before entering.

He was also thankful Bilbo had let Ori go early for lunch.

He immediately crept to the secret door and whispered the password to the wall before slipping into the dark passageway, the door sliding soundlessly shut behind him.

He took another deep breath and grinned.

Oh yes, this had gone well.

Bilbo was a bit too trusting, perhaps, so Nori would have to shadow him, though only when Bifur wasn't on duty.

Bifur was a good sort and very obviously cared for Bilbo. Though that lead Nori to wondering why Bifur wasn't in the room with Bilbo.

Nori frowned as he took an upward staircase to his 'office', as it were, and decided he’d ask Bilbo next time. The privacy was a boon for their work, but Bilbo really shouldn’t be alone.

Well, he shouldn’t so long as there were more dissenters over supporters.

Now, to start on those rumors.

He had a boss to keep safe after all.


	27. Thanks and Rumors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long.
> 
> Organizing plot lines, especially since some of the plot areas could no longer work.

Fíli sighed as he walked down the hallway with his brother to Heir’s Consort Bilbo’s office. “Kíli?” he questioned.

“Yes Fíli?”

“Why did you tell Amad that I thought we should teach Heir’s Consort Bilbo Iglishmêk three days ago? It was just your mad idea,” Fíli responded.

Kíli beamed, even as he turned to walk backwards to speak to Fíli face to face. “Because, my dear brother, you will find our Uncle Bilbo is quite more than he seems,” Kíli responded.

“That reminds me; why do _you_ think this marriage took place?” Fíli asked.

Kíli turned back around on his heel and ignored the question as if it had never been asked at all.

*~*~*

Fíli resisted the urge to sigh as Kíli perked up over the fact Heir's Consort Bilbo's office door was open for the first time since they had been assigned teaching Bilbo Iglishmêk.

His brother's little crush was starting to grit on Fíli's nerves, especially as he couldn't see what was so special about the Hobbit, beyond the fact he was by far one of the softest beings Fíli had ever laid eyes on. His hands were newly calloused, and he was unhealthily thin after a few months long jaunt across Arda on pony back.

In all honesty, Fíli just couldn't see what Kíli found so appealing, but Fíli honestly thought it might have to do with the fact that the Hobbit had danced with Kíli multiple times over anything the Hobbit actually was.

As lost as he was in his thoughts, he was surprised when Kíli suddenly squeaked and jumped back, crashing into Fíli, resulting in them being a tangle of limbs and torso on the floor. He let out an undignified sound and tried to detangle himself, but with Kíli squirming in an attempt to get free first, it was near impossible.

He growled when someone touched him and looked up, only to find himself staring into Bilbo’s face. His forehead was furrowed slightly, and a frown was tugging on his face, even as gentle hands began to work limbs, carefully.

A deep rumbling chuckle drew Fíli’s attention and he twisted slightly to find Bifur, Bilbo’s Guard, laughing at him.

Fíli kept his face perfectly neutral and was surprised when suddenly Kíli’s weight was gone.

He twisted back to find Kíli hugging Bilbo happily, the Hobbit patting Kíli’s shoulder, even as he glanced at Fíli helplessly.

No.

Not helplessly.

Concerned.

Fíli started and then he got up onto his feet before he peeled his brother off of Bilbo, noticing Ori hovering in the doorway. “Kíli, we came for a reason, remember?” Fíli reminded him calmly.

“I do. Just wanted to hug Uncle Bilbo first. We should probably head inside though,” Kíli answered and pointed to the doorway.

Bilbo immediately smiled and nodded before he waved them in, turning to Bifur, who nodded.

When Fíli stepped through, followed shortly by Ori, the door shut behind them. “Shouldn’t Bifur be in here?” Fíli asked.

“Bilbo managed to get him to agree to stay at the door whenever Bilbo needed space. Bifur only agreed after Bilbo agreed he would do it rarely. What we can find, there are no other ways in, so that is probably the only reason Bifur agreed, your Highness,” Ori explained calmly, before he settled on the scribe’s stool next to Bilbo’s chair, while Kíli plopped himself onto the floor.

Bilbo sighed at that and tried to get him to stand before he almost immediately gave up and settled on his chair in front of the desk, which was already filled with paperwork. The table meant for lunch was half filled with even more paperwork, though those were more orderly than the piles on the desk.

The other half had the remains of three lunches.

Ori immediately settled his lap desk on his lap while Fíli sat in a chair. “Amad sent us to teach you Iglishmêk, Erebor’s dialect, as it were,” Kíli explained and Fíli resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, while Ori began to write.

Bilbo, however, immediately slumped, and smiled brightly, before he made an odd gesture that had Ori grinning down at his lap desk. “He says thank you,” Ori translated.

“What was that?” Kíli asked, immediately leaning up into Bilbo’s space.

Bilbo’s eyes glanced toward Ori’s lap desk before he did the gesture again, while Kíli copied. “It is the gesture language of the Hobbits. I know the bare basics of it. It is simultaneously more complex and simpler than Iglishmêk,” Ori explained.

Fíli glanced at Bilbo to see him correct Kíli’s hand, smiling a bit, even as Kíli kept himself firmly in Bilbo’s space.

This was going to take a while. “Fíli, maybe Uncle Bilbo can teach us his gesture language while we teach him ours!” Kíli exclaimed as he twisted around, all childish glee that had yet to be worn away by the duties of adulthood and Royalty.

“Later. Amad will not be pleased if we do not start teach Bilbo the basics today. If he has time, that is,” Fíli answered and Ori wrote, though his grip on his quill had become white knuckled.

Bilbo waved at Kíli until the younger was out of his space before he turned to his desk, opening it to remove a large stack of paper, along with some fine charcoal pencils that allowed them to use them without dirtying their fingers.

The parchment was rough, obviously meant for drafts, cheap and quick to make and Fíli thought he saw drawings next to the pile of clear paper that Bilbo had pulled his stack from, but the desk was closed soon after, obscuring the entire thing from him.

Pity, especially as Fíli thought he saw wrapped _somethings_ , at the front of the desk before it had been shut tight.

Bilbo then slipped off his chair and put the paper and charcoal down on a clear spot of the lunch table. Once his hands were free he began to move the trays of food off the table, only to pause when he seemed to realize there was nowhere for them to go.

Ori immediately moved, taking them from Bilbo before he moved to the entryway, kicking the door with his foot, as his hands were occupied with the trays, while Bilbo waved at Fíli, and Kíli, to the lunch table. The door opened and there were soft, rumbling, orders and Ori slipped back into the room, hands free of the trays. The long braid of a page whipped in and out of sight, signifying it had been the page who had taken the trays from Ori, and Fíli wondered if he had settled there or if he had always been across from the room, invisible as they were to Fíli, who was too used to them being there to register if they were or not till he needed them.

A bad habit that he needed to curb, really, and if _Thráin_ knew his thoughts, Fíli knew he would spend the winter season fulfilling a page’s roll to teach him the error of his thoughts.

Ori suddenly walked back over and tapped the letter to Bilbo’s left shoulder. He turned and took it, sighing over the seal before he twisted it side to side, settling it immediately on the desk. He focused on them and smiled before he took up one of the charcoal sticks and took the top paper off the pile.

_Where do we start?_

*~*~*

Basic necessities were quickly mastered, such as greetings, proper partings, directions, and numbers.

Well, some of them, but Bilbo soon had to beg off, sending them down the hallway, smiling as he hugged Kíli back and though it was near dinner, both Bilbo and Ori turned back to the cluttered desk.

Bifur slipped back into the room once Fíli and Kíli left, and Fíli turned to his brother. “What is your idea?” Fíli asked.

“About the marriage?” Kíli questioned and Fíli nodded.

He growled, he couldn’t help it, when Kíli just grinned mischievously and took off.

*~*~*

“It is a sign, really. Blessin’ from Mahal. Halflings are just like Buzninh; laughing and warm, loving their gardens and growin’ things,” an older Dwarf argued into his tankard as some of his equals snarled about the ‘desecration of the most preserved Line.’

“Sides, he’s male. Can’t have any babes. And maybe this is Mahal smilin’ down on Prince Fíli’s marriage. Good as gold does not make it mithril strong,” he continued, settling some of the tempers he had riled with his words.

Nori, in the opposite corner, smiled.

He knew he could trust the older ones to get the job done.


	28. Beneath the Surface

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rift comes between Fíli and Kíli, Bilbo comes to some conclusions, and a plot is whispered about.

“Kíli, what is with you?” Fíli demanded as he caught up with his baby brother, who looked determined to keep marching.

He was surprised when his brother turned on him.

“How…how…how could you say that about Uncle Bilbo?” Kíli demanded.

“Because it is true!” Fíli responded.

“You don’t know that! Just because Uncle Bilbo is from the Shire doesn’t mean that you can just…say things like that!” Kíli shouted.

Fíli started at that and, around them, Dwarves were starting to slow to watch them.

With a growl, he grabbed his brother and headed into a room and shut them in. “Bilbo Baggins, unworthy Heir’s Consort, has never even bothered to learn how to wield a weapon!” Fíli snapped.

He is surprised when his brother punches him.

It isn’t incredibly hard, but it is enough to stun. “He’s not unworthy! Or do you just consider him that because he’s not a Dwarf?” Kíli demanded, but he didn’t wait for an answer, just tore out of the room.

And Fíli, rubbing his jaw, wondered what just happened.

*~*~*

Bilbo is quite surprised when his door is thrown open, though he doesn’t hear it hit stone or get slammed shut.

He watches in concern as Kíli just rushes over to him and collapses against him like a faunt into their parent’s lap.

Bilbo hesitates before he begins to run his hands through Kíli’s hair, making concerned sounds, he hopes anyway. Kíli just buried himself further into Bilbo’s lap, just behind his knees, his shoulders shaking slightly as he holds onto Bilbo.

It takes most of the afternoon to calm Kíli down.

(Neither notice Thorin in the doorway, though he closes the door softly, never letting any of them take notice of him, omitting Bifur who pretends he doesn’t see Thorin after all.)

*~*~*

Bilbo started slightly when he saw Thorin sitting on the chair in their shared rooms, staring into the fire.

It had been some time since they had married (two weeks and four days) and the wedding night and, despite Bilbo not wanting to go through that again, he had learned a bit more about Dwarven Royal Marriages. 

Political marriages always had to be 'witnessed' and Bilbo was suddenly very thankful he hadn't been around in the older days, when people actually had to  _watch_. With the way it was now, Bilbo could hope that, by the time Fíli got married, there would be a wall there, not a curtain.

Two people could sit outside and not hear a thing and check the sheets or something!

But Thorin was his husband, for all that he seemed not to want Bilbo there, and he should at least try to ease Thorin's mind somewhat.

In the grand scheme of things, Bilbo was sure Thorin hadn't wanted him for a husband anymore than Bilbo had wanted to move across Middle Earth.

He knew he was growing paler with every passing day and Nori, who saw him with fair regularity, had actually showed obvious concern just that morning.

Gentleheart was a welcome reprieve from all of his duties and the excuse to go outside, even if the outside had sick ground and overcast skies. The pony was, apparently, much better behaved with Bilbo coming every day, which was a relief, and Bilbo resisted the urge to sigh as he carefully sat on the foot stool in front of Thorin.

He hesitated before he reached out to touch Thorin's shin, only for Thorin to shift away.

Bilbo pulled his hand away and stared up at Thorin, wondering what the Dwarf was muttering into his fist, for his lips were moving, along with his chin.

Bilbo didn't reach out to touch him again.

*~*~*

Thorin sighed as he saw Bilbo stare up at him, as if waiting to unburden Thorin of his weariness.

How was he supposed to tell his husband (in what seemed like name only, though Thorin wouldn’t push for ‘husband rights’ or all of that rubbish and he planned to firmly abolish that nonsense, because no one should be forced into bed with another, marriage or not) and he grumbled when Bilbo reached for him.

Pulling his bad knee away, he was surprised when Bilbo just folded his hands on his lap, as if to keep from touching. “I really wish I could talk it all out with you. At least then this could be a partnership, if not a marriage,” Thorin stated and Bilbo watched him patiently.

Though what for, Thorin did not know.

“Why did my father marry me to you? We could have gotten the food from other sources! Mahal curse it, why did he saddle me with you?” Thorin demanded as he stood up, angry at everything.

He had thought himself safe from his father’s political chess board and now it seemed he had just been holding Thorin back like the final pawn to turn it into a Queen.

He hissed lowly at that thought and found Bilbo still staring up at him as he paced.

His throat hurt slightly and Thorin realized, belatedly, he had been shouting at Bilbo the entire time and he laughed as he covered his face.

“Oh, Mahal preserve me, I am shouting at one who will not hear!” he cursed as he resisted the urge to flip over a table in his, multiple, frustrations.

Bilbo had stood up at this point and drifted over to him, head shifted to the side, hand hovering, but not reaching to touch.

It was almost like he was afraid to and Thorin covered his face before he sighed. “I’m not good company. I’m afraid you have been married to a Dwarf with a very short temper when he’s frustrated,” he stated and looked at Bilbo who was smiling, weakly, up at Thorin.

Thorin tried to smile back before he tried to reach out, then let his hand fall.

Bilbo hugged himself then and ducked his head down and Thorin sighed, resisting the urge to thunk his head, gently, against Bilbo’s and apologize, like he did with his sister or nephews.

Instead, he reached out and tapped Bilbo’s shoulder to get him to look up and Thorin nodded to the door.

Bilbo nodded his understanding and Thorin left.

He had thinking to do.

And maybe, if he was lucky, he would run into Dori.

*~*~*

Dori was a very busy Dwarf.

He had a desire to open a tea shop, but getting a liscense and such was time-consuming and expensive. He had the property, the easiest part, and the teas would come after the liscense, his hidden vein, as it were, of wealth content to support him, especially as Ori was making a lovely stipend as Heir Consort Bilbo’s scribe and Nori was…well, Nori wasn’t coming to him for bail money, but Dori kept…

“Dori,” a voice from the shadows came and Dori nearly punched his younger brother in the face on automatic reaction.

“Nori! Mahal bless it,” Dori hissed.

“Sorry big brother,” Nori stated as he wound his arm around Dori’s.

“What?” Dori asked.

“How stupid do you think Thorin is?” Nori asked.

“Why are you asking?” Dori asked.

“Oh, something,” Nori stated as they walked.

“What?” Dori pressed and Nori shook his head.

“Fine. I think he has his moments of stupidity. Great and grand stupidity,” Dori answered.

“All I needed to know,” Nori stated and then grinned.

“You cooking or is Namai?” Nori asked.

“Me, why?” Dori asked.

“Well, won’t you look at the time? Gotta run big brother! Talk to you at Ori’s for lunch tomorrow!” Nori stated as he took off.

Dori huffed and shook his head before he walked off to home.

Namai should be done with dinner by now. And, if Dori was lucky, Nori wouldn’t remember today was the end of the week and, thus, the night Namai _always_ cooked.

Nori didn’t get his lying through himself after all.

*~*~*

“We’ve lost our chance,” Damasir, Head of the Clothworkers Guild , grumbled, even as the rest of the group shook their head.

“He is just a Hobbit. He is easy to remove,” Hansir, Head of the Jewelers Guild, responded, and the rest nodded in agreement.

A _Hobbit_ would not undo decades of planning.

Not even one married to the Heir.


	29. A Trip, an Idea, and a Challenge

Bilbo let out a long sigh as he settled the saddle on Gentleheart's back, wondering if this was really the best idea.

Dís seemed to think so, however, especially as Dale was surprisingly close and, once Bilbo was reassured that Gentleheart was properly saddled and wasn't irritated, mounted up with the stiffness of someone who wasn't really comfortable with riding on the back of a pony (or any equine). He pat Gentleheart's neck, smiling at the way the pony immediately quirked an ear back to him and Bilbo nudged the gelding's sides and rode to where Dís, Bifur, Ori, and some other guards waited.

As Bilbo rode up, he smiled when he saw Kíli was there and frowned a bit. _"Where's Fíli?"_ Bilbo gestured and Kíli shrugged a bit.

Bilbo sighed and Dís immediately flickered Iglishmêk at him and he raised a hand, feeling the rumble, buzzing, feeling of his nervous laughter while he shook his head. _“Not that good,”_ he gestured and Dís seemed to sniff and gestured at Kíli, who gestured back and soon the pair were arguing in shorthand while Ori seemed to be focused entirely on his pony’s mane and Bilbo just shook his head at them.

Like mother, like son.

*~*~*

Thorin watched from the battlements as Bilbo with his small company rode down to Dale, Kíli riding up to Bilbo’s side as soon as he was able.

He watched with a sigh and resisted the urge to growl at Dwalin when he stepped up. “You know, you two are married. I was there fer the wedding and everything,” Dwalin stated and Thorin resisted the urge to punch his best friend (and guard) in the solar plexus.

“You saw a wedding, not the start of a marriage,” Thorin growled.

“And yet you are pining away after him,” Dwalin stated and Thorin turned away, marching along the battlements.

“I am not pining,” Thorin hissed.

“What is it then?” Dwalin asked.

Thorin ignored him as he marched off, mentally reviewing everything he had to do today. “What is it?” Dwalin pressed as they headed down to the Blacksmith’s Guild.

“We don’t talk,” Thorin stated.

“Little hard, considering he’s deaf, isn’t it?” Dwalin asked and Thorin shook his head.

“We just…” Thorin began before he fell silent before he turned and headed into a private room.

He shut the door tightly behind them and pulled Dwalin further into the room. “I feel as if Adad is trying to make this only a marriage in name,” Thorin whispered, glancing around still as if he was going to see one of his father’s guards suddenly standing there, ready to throw him into prison for treason.

Which wouldn’t happen, as Thráin was not mad like Thrór had been, and would understand his son’s concern.

Hopefully.

“What do you mean?” Dwalin asked.

“This marriage, its rush, its push, the fact I am busier now than I ever have been…it is like Adad doesn’t…doesn’t want this to be a real marriage, a partnership, but just…just wants me to be known as married,” Thorin answered softly and Dwalin starts slightly at that before he looks around.

Those words border on treason and Dwalin frowns. “Why would he want that?” Dwalin questioned.

“I do not know, and…that can’t be it, can it?” Thorin asked and Dwalin shrugged, even as he turned it over.

On his next day off, he would look into it, mentally, and compare with Bifur if he had to.

And maybe, if he could find that irritating thief, talk to Nori as well.

The little rat always had his ear to the ground.

_*~*~*_

Bilbo was enjoying going to Dale’s markets, and didn’t begrudge Bifur keeping closer than usual (mostly because he understood, in a way), while Ori helps him to barter for anything he would like to look at.

Mostly, he buys things to embroider with, because he left those behind and it would be soothing, something to do, when he can’t sleep and disappears to the sitting room, leaving his husband to the bed.

And then Bifur turns to someone and Ori jumps and turns, hand gripping the charcoal pencil to the point of threatening to break it and Bilbo looks in the direction they are looking to find a Dwarf saying something.

Bilbo doesn’t hesitate to grab Bifur’s arm before he glances at Ori, who is already scribbling on the paper.

_He’s insulted your honor and…I can’t write it down. He’s challenged you to a fight._

Bilbo waved his hand slightly and Ori’s shoulders sagged.

_You must accept._

Bilbo frowned at that and stared at the Dwarf, who was making taunting gestures and Bilbo’s grip tightened on Bifur’s upper arm. Bifur turned to him and Bilbo tapped Bifur’s spear.

Bifur hesitated and he tapped the flat of the spear before shaking his head, then twitching his head to the side.

Bilbo frowned a bit and then made a ‘cutting’ motion against the top of the spear before tapping on the staff.

Bifur grinned and nodded before turning to the Dwarf who had issued the challenge. He obviously was rude about it, but the challenge was accepted and Ori gripped Bilbo’s sleeve pitifully, wringing it slightly.

Bilbo merely pat Ori’s hand comfortingly while Kíli ran over, gesturing wildly. Bilbo turned back to Ori.

_The fight is to take place this afternoon. Staves, apparently. Non-lethal. Hopefully._

“Do you doubt me so?” Bilbo asked, having to repeat himself a few times to get the words out before he turned to buy some ribbons and silk thread, ending his shopping trip.

Maybe he’ll find a way to give ribbons away to someone, somehow. He doesn’t know of anyone, but he likes the delicate work of threading silk thread through fine ribbons and while he rarely got either in the Shire, there seems to be a surplus of it in Dale’s markets, and at what Ori considers a fair price, as he was the one doing the haggling for it.

As Bifur hadn’t intervened during it, Bifur also considered it a fair price. “I need to get to the…rings?” Bilbo stated, though at the last word, he twitched his head to the side and Ori nodded dejectedly.

Bilbo smiled and turned, giving a polite wave, and Bifur quickly fell in step while Kíli seemed ready to run to the side of the road and start throwing up, he was that pale. Bilbo just pat Kíli’s arms comfortingly and lead Gentleheart out, brushed him a bit before retacking him up. The gelding quivered lightly and Bilbo paused to gently pet the gelding’s cheek before the pony calmed.

Bilbo then pressed a kiss right behind the pony’s nose band, and mounted up (after checking the girth, because he did not need to be humiliated like that today). Dís was frowning at him disapprovingly and Bilbo pretended it had to do with his purchases and not the fight he had somehow got himself involved in.

 _“What is it with you and fighting?”_ he gestured and Dís’s frowned only deepened at him.

*~*~*

Bilbo sighed over the staves, using them experimentally before putting them back, debating asking where the spear repair was and using one of the spear handles instead.

He is still looking for a staff when he is suddenly grabbed by the upper arms and he lets out a sound that rips through his throat. He is rapidly, and painfully, turned around, feeling his face chill and he has to grab the person who is grabbing his upper arms in a death grip to keep from crumbling to the ground.

He is gasping for air, heart trying to pound out of his chest, as his blood freezes and his vision sort-of goes wonky. When his vision clears, it is to the sight of Thorin looking ready to shake him and Bilbo feels like he is frozen to his very core, his breath coming in quick exhales that make him feel light-headed.

Eventualy, Thorin slowly releases him, and Bilbo is sure he’s going to have bruises where Thorin gripped him.

Thorin who is now staring at him in this odd mix of wanting to strangle and something else, which does nothing to ease Bilbo’s breathing.

He reflexively tensed when Thorin raises his hands again, twitching when, instead of grabbing, his hands brush down Bilbo’s arms and his head is lowered, hair a cloak to hide his face.

(Bilbo is tempted to grab Thorin’s chin and force him to look up at Bilbo, but he feels too frozen to move and so he doesn’t.)

The movements are almost apologetic and Thorin continues to do this, until Bilbo stops twitching, but his heart still feels like it wants to pound itself out of his skin. Thorin’s touch is gentle, however, and Bilbo tenses, slightly, when Thorin leans forward to tap his forehead, gently, to Bilbo’s.

Hidden by Thorin, it is suddenly like their wedding night (which Bilbo otherwise tries not to think about), when it first began, when he was infinitely gentle and Bilbo wishes that gentleness had stayed that entire night and…

Bilbo stops thinking about it, but he’s still staring up at Thorin, and his heart has settled back in its proper place and he lets out long sigh.

And then Thorin is releasing him and walking away in a swirl of a cloak, leaving Bilbo feeling slightly flustered.

He resisted the impulse to throw something at Thorin’s head (he didn’t really have anything to throw, which helped, and the idea of even throwing a _pillow_ at Thorin made his heart freeze, so he wouldn’t even if he had something to throw) and instead turned back to the staves.

He, eventually, found one he was satisfied with and went with Bifur to, lightly, warm up, ignoring Bifur’s frown at the fact Bilbo had obviously gained no weight.

When Bifur nodded, Bilbo turned and faced his opponent.

The challenger did a mocking bow and Bilbo did a proper one.

And then the cloth to the side was dropped and the fight began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THORIN!! YOU!!!
> 
> *hits head against a padded wall, so bruising is minimal*
> 
> STOP SNEAKING UP ON BILBO AND SCARING HIM!
> 
> Moron!
> 
> *groans*
> 
> Next chapter is the fight, which will be up soon, but I wanted to seperate it, as it is in Thorin's POV, starts from Thorin learning about the Challenge, and such.
> 
> But...we have Thorin questioning the reasons behind the marriage, Dwalin deciding to follow up on these thoughts, Nori being mentioned, Bilbo in a fight with staves (staff fighting), or beginning at least, and...
> 
> Why was Bilbo challenged?
> 
> *cackles*
> 
> Well, Thorin next chapter, so fun!


	30. Fight and Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna be honest; I have never seen a staff fight. However, I know enough about it to think that this fight is plausible.
> 
> I apologize now if I am mistaken.

Thorin is in a meeting with the Master of the Blacksmith's Guild when Kíli suddenly rushed in, gasping for air.

"Kíli, what is the meaning of this?" Thorin asked, even as Kíli shook his head, still panting for air as he tried to get enough into his lungs to speak.

"Bilbo...Bilbo's been challenged to a duel. Non-lethal, first pin or unconsciousness fight," Kíli panted out and Thorin felt his heart briefly stop before he surged forward and grabbed Kíli's shoulders.

“Where?” Thorin demanded.

“Upper Arena,” Kíli answered and Thorin strode out, ignoring the calls to wait and Mahal curse anyone who tried to drag him back and end it properly.

His _husband_ was about to enter in a Challenge and non-lethal did nothing to calm Thorin’s mind. What if the staff hit his temple? What if it crushed his windpipe?

Too many ‘what ifs’ and how this could go horribly, _horribly_ wrong whirled through Thorin’s head as he picked up speed to the Upper Arena, ignoring how those off-duty were already gathering, how they were whispering, and Thorin doesn’t even hesitate, just goes straight to where the staves are kept.

Bilbo is walking down the wall, lifting the staves and putting them back and…

He sees Bilbo, briefly, unconscious on the ground in his mind’s eye, of seeing him gasping for breath and being unable to get it and…

He’s grabbing Bilbo before he can really think it through, turning him around, and the shriek of pure terror will echo in Thorin’s ears for a long time, the hands like claws somehow sinking through his layers to brand themselves into his skin, a memory he will never be able to shake.

The perfectly clear memory of seeing his husband looking up at him in pure terror will haunt his sleep for the rest of his life, Thorin is sure of it, no matter how he feels about Bilbo deep down.

He’s possessive, yes, but what Dwarf isn’t of their spouse?

It takes time, for Bilbo to stop looking so frozen, and Thorin slowly eases his grip on Bilbo.

It takes some moments before Thorin can release Bilbo, but he is torn between shaking Bilbo, strangling him, or just hugging him tight, breaking all traditions, and fighting the Challenger himself.

He carefully raised his hands, seeing the tension that ran through Bilbo’s frame as he did so, and ran them carefully down Bilbo’s arms. Thorin's head is tipped forward and he’s staring down at Bilbo’s slight frame.

He is too thin and that worries Thorin, in the back of his mind. “I didn’t mean to scare you but…why do you do this? Why are you courting death? Non-fatal aside, if you get caught in this arena, you could die and he wouldn't be able to be charged with the murder of a royal,” Thorin whispered softly, as he continued to run his hands over Bilbo’s arms, wincing slightly.

He probably bruised Bilbo and he didn’t censor his actions this time as he carefully leaned forward to press his forehead to Bilbo’s.

And Bilbo stilled.

There was something gentle between them, soft, like the wedding night, before Thorin remembered that this was not a secret place, and he had just wanted to get it over with.

And then Bilbo seemed to shift, as if something had been soothed and Thorin pulled away.

Suddenly embarrassed by his actions, he felt his cheeks flush and he turned away, unsurprised to find Dwalin there. “We’re staying,” Thorin stated and Dwalin nodded, though he looked far too amused.

Thorin took a seat up a ways, allowing him to ‘oversee’ the fight and clenched the arm rests to the point he was sure he drained all the blood from his knuckles. He is terrified he is going to watch his husband fall on the ground and disgrace to the Durin Line.

(But this he tacks on because it is the only thing that makes sense, the only thing that he should fear, beyond the death of his husband, which makes his heart stop and his breath catch in his throat.)

Thorin watches as they meet, growls at the obvious disrespect the Dwarf (“Maurli son of Kauli,” Dwalin supplied) offers his husband while Bilbo shows him only respect.

Thorin is deaf to the world, hearing only his heartbeat and his breathing, as the cloth is dropped and Bilbo shifts the staff in his grip, altering his grip.

And he waits.

Maurli moves first, speed and strength and…

Bilbo sidesteps, twisting his staff around to rap the Dwarf across his shoulder blades as he does so, quickly moving before stilling once more. The Dwarf turns, snarling obscenities and the battle cry of the Dwarves before charging Bilbo.

But, such scare tactics don’t work on Bilbo, who cannot hear them, and he sidesteps once more, this time hooking the staff to trip Maurli, who stumbles, but catches himself.

Bilbo nimbly dances away from him, shifting his balance, holding himself light on his feet as the Dwarf turns once more against the Hobbit. This time, they pace each other, Bilbo’s eyes never leaving the Dwarf as they circled.

The Dwarf charged again and Bilbo moved.

Only he didn’t move away, but forward. He ducked under the motion, using his far hand to maneuver the staff to knock the Dwarf’s staff off-course while using the right hand half of the staff to hook around the ankle, pulling back.

Only Bilbo didn’t stop, instead arcing the right half of the staff over, using the left to catch the man’s wrist and launched himself forward, knee to the solar plexus, foot to the ground, and Bilbo’s staff pressed against the Dwarf’s neck and wrist.

“Call! Bilbo, Heir’s Consort, wins!” the Watcher for the contest stated and Thorin stared as Bifur moved forward, pulling Bilbo away, and Thorin is moving, walking after the Hobbit, ignoring the Dwarf on the ground that gasps for air.

Bilbo is watching him, eyes darting slightly, and Bifur has Bilbo’s staff.

Thorin isn’t sure why, but he reaches out and gently holds onto Bilbo’s shoulders, eyes searching for injuries (Bilbo has come out unscathed, something that can be attributed to the fact no one expected Bilbo to fight…or fight so well), and feels Bilbo trembling under his hands.

He does not hesitate to scoop Bilbo up into his arms at the feeling, pulling him as close to a hug as he will allow himself.

Bilbo squeaks at the movement and clutches to Thorin, indecipherable noises leaving Bilbo’s throat as they walk to Óin’s.

Kíli joins them, looking like he’s torn between being smug and in awe, before he’s rushing away to speak to his brother for the first time since Thorin found Kíli sobbing in Bilbo’s lap.

“You could have gotten yourself killed, you stupid Hobbit,” Thorin growled lowly.

Bilbo didn’t react beyond hiding his face against Thorin’s shoulder, the tips of his ears a bright burning red.

*~*~*

“Well?” Kíli asked as he skipped over his brother, oozing a smug and lofty air that had Fíli scowling at his little brother.

It wasn’t often that Fíli was wrong, let alone this _badly_ wrong. “I may have been wrong about Bilbo,” Fíli muttered.

“ _May_ have? He bested Maurli at his own weapon!” Kíli retorted.

“Element of surprise. No one expected the Halfling…” Fíli began, but Kíli let out a sound of utter frustration and turned, storming away from his brother.

Fíli groaned and rubbed his temples.

“You know,” Dís intoned right behind him and Fíli bit his lip to keep from cursing, or groaning.

Either would get him a smack upside the head.

“I thought I hadn’t raised any idiots,” she continued.

“It is not my fault that Kíli,” Fíli began, only to be cut off by Dís saying, “I wasn’t talking about Kíli,” before she walked away, leaving Fíli to wonder what he had missed.

*~*~*

“It is just over-exertion. A lot of stew and some watered down ale, and _rest_ , and he’ll be fine,” Óin stated and Thorin frowned, though Bilbo huffed and crossed his arms.

Bifur gestured something and Bilbo signed one back.

_“Gentleheart?”_

Óin shook his head. “Bed rest means bed rest, Bilbo,” Óin stated and Bilbo opened his mouth, as if to protest, and his hands shook briefly in the air, before he slumped back with a long sigh and stared up at the ceiling.

Ori worried his thumb. “Can he do work, if I bring it to him?” Ori asked and Thorin glanced at Óin, who nodded.

“Just end it an hour earlier and make sure he breaks for lunch,” Thorin intoned before he turned to Dwalin, only to find his own scribe, Narsil (she was soft spoken, with a hidden core of mithril in her, a Master of her Craft who had only rested once during her time working for Thorin to have her son, Narmil, and raise him a bit before putting him with the caretakers), hovering at the door, just behind Dwalin.

“Thorin, your meeting with King Thráin began half an hour ago,” she stated and Thorin cursed before he ran his hand over his face.

He turned to Bilbo, who was watching him now, and inclined his head to the door.

Bilbo nodded and Thorin quickly left.

He was late and that _never_ boded well for any who had to meet with Thráin.

But this time, he wasn’t going to leave the meeting without confronting his father about time off.

Both he, and Bilbo, needed it if they wanted anything with even a semblance of a marriage between them.

And he would have it, even if he had to seriously maim someone to get it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shortest. Staff fight. Ever.
> 
> Also, Thorin, your denial is driving me insane.
> 
> WHY CAN'T YOU ACCEPT THE FACT YOU ACTUALLY ADMIRE THE HOBBIT AND MOVE ON WITH THE GETTING BEYOND ADMIRATION!?!?!?
> 
> Also...TALK! TALK!
> 
> TALK YOU TWO!!
> 
> *lets out a frustrated scream-growl*
> 
> The carrying was cute, even though it confused Bilbo.
> 
> (More on that next chapter.)


	31. Learning and Planning

Thráin was frowning as Thorin entered the room and he let out a long sigh as he sat down across from his father. "My husband decided to enter a Challenge," Thorin stated and Thráin leaned back in surprise.

"Oh?" the King questioned.

"He was Challenged, he Accepted, and he chose the Weapon by the time I heard of it. We need to drill him on Challenge rules. And while I hope he will not be Challenged again anytime soon, let alone at all, I am sure that that hope will be dashed, considering that no one seems to like him, in general," Thorin answered.

Thráin hummed lightly and turned a goblet around by the stem. “And how did the Hobbit do?” Thráin questioned lightly.

“ _Bilbo_ won. In three moves,” Thorin answered and Thráin sat up.

“He…won?” Thráin questioned and Thorin nodded.

Thráin leaned back again and ran a hand over his mouth and beard. Thorin frowned at the tiny tremors in the movement and Thráin shook his head a little before he took a drink from the goblet. “He’s exceeded expectations,” Thráin stated.

“And I would like to know, personally how much he _exceeds expectations_ instead of having to hear about it or having to watch it from the sidelines! I want to get to know my husband!” Thorin returned.

Thráin scowled and stood up, which had Thorin realizing that at some point, he had stood up as well. Despite the fact a table separated them their snapping personalities clashed together with the power and finesse of a sword, the weapon they had both mastered. Thorin held his position and Thráin glared.

“You will do your duty as Heir to the throne!” Thráin snarled.

“And must my husband pay the price for that, in a strange land with strange customs?” Thorin shouted back.

“What price?” Thráin snarled.

“To lie in bed with a stranger!” Thorin retorted.

For a moment, they just stood.

Thorin’s harsh breathing was the only sound that filled the chamber while Thráin glowered at him with his one good eye.

But neither gave and Thráin’s glower became harsher. “You will do your duty and may the consequences be paid to the Deceiver!” Thráin growled out before he left the room, Thráin’s guard at his heels.

Thorin stood for a time, just trying to get his breathing normal, before he slumped back into his chair and curled over, covering his face with his hands.

By Mahal, what had he done?

*~*~*

Bilbo sighed as he tried to get the simple, plain, cotton to settle in the hoop, but his hands were shaking.

Bed rest was well and good, but Bilbo _hated_ bed rest and he wanted nothing more than…

Bilbo is pretty sure the only reason his shriek wasn’t heard by those outside the chambers he shared with Thorin was because the person who had steadied his embroidery hoop out of _nowhere_ had also covered his mouth.

Frozen and quickly panting for a second time that day, the lightheadedness was quicker in coming to dance around his vision as he could only get air through his nose.

And then there was more air and his vision cleared and it was Nori sitting there, looking torn between cheeky and apologetic.

That didn’t stop Bilbo from smacking him, hard, on the shoulder. Bilbo glared as Nori settled on the stool Ori had left there, even stealing some of the cheap paper Ori had and a charcoal pencil.

_Lovely demonstration today, Bilbo. Staying low means something else in the Shire?_

Bilbo glared at Nori for the words and sniffed before he focused on his embroidery, as Nori had gotten the cotton cloth settled. Nori tapped his hand and gave a look before he snatched the needle right out of Bilbo’s hands, along with the green thread Bilbo was going to use.

He glared at Nori, who set both in the basket Bilbo was going to use for his embroidery, but Nori just smiled.

 _Work_.

Bilbo huffed but set the hoop to the side and waved his hand in a small circle. Nori grinned and shifted slightly so that Bilbo could easily read while he wrote.

_Some of the Blue Mountain Ambassadors have been trying to figure out how to get your marriage annulled._

Bilbo immediately grimaced at that. “Witnessed,” Bilbo muttered out and Nori made a face, suggesting that he understood Bilbo, or at least remembered the circumstances around Bilbo’s marriage.

_They’re a part of the group that dislikes you immensely to the point ‘dislike’ might be more of a lie instead of an understatement._

Bilbo sighed and frowned before he stole the charcoal pencil from Nori to write his own inquiry. _Who are they?_

_A lower Lord, Brinair, and his son, Mrinair II, his wife, Mriamli, and their daughter, Brimli. I think they were hoping Thorin would fall in love with her and did do their best to insure that Brimli was near Thorin a great deal, but he never took notice of her, despite how she tried._

_There is also Lady Saoulmur. She’s…vicious. She’s opposed to any and all mingling of blood, even if it just by marriage. It would be worse if you could have children. Male Hobbits can’t have children, can they?_

Bilbo shook his head and Nori grinned. _Not even with those legends of Fairy blood in the Took line, which you are part of?_

Bilbo glared. “It doesn’t work like that,” Bilbo answered and refused to explain, tapping the paper pointedly.

_There is also the Guild Masters. Master of the Blacksmiths'Guild, Master of the Clothworkers' Guild, Master of the Weavers' Guild, to name a few, are obviously planning things. The one who Challenged you, Maurli, happens to be second in command of the Jewelers’ Guild. And I almost guarantee you that, had you not bested him, he would have killed you on ‘accident’ through a blow to the head._

Bilbo sighed at that and rubbed his forehead. He stole the charcoal pencil back from Nori and began to write again.

_How many of my Guildmasters wish to kill me? I can barely keep track of them all._

Nori huffed a sigh at that and considered what to write before he did so.

_Any Guild that has to do with the clothing, warmth, and feeding of the people is under your management. Head of the Kitchens is neutral, mostly because he can’t afford to take a side. As the Head of the Kitchens, he is an executable position if he takes a side, as it were._

Bilbo sighed at that and closed his eyes, briefly, before he opened them again. He knew he had a list of Guilds he oversaw and maneuvered the financial budget for each of those guilds from _his_ budget. He knew that Dís helped him organize it and that she was his head advisor by default, and not one he was going to dispute.

He felt the charcoal pencil tap his elbow and he turned to focus on Nori. _You seen anything?_

Nori wrote the question calmly and Bilbo considered. _When Maurli was Challenging me, there was a near blue-haired Dwarf standing behind him, looking rather eager._

Nori nodded and looked up before he shifted. _How is the bed rest going?_

_Does it look like I am in bed?_

Bilbo is sure Nori is laughing at him and, once they’ve decided that Nori is to back off and observe and only interfere if he must, Bilbo and Nori fell into ‘chatting’ through the parchment, until Nori jus slipped away.

With Nori no longer pulling at Bilbo’s attention (not that Bilbo had been complaining in the slightest over the ‘distraction’) he focused on his embroidery. Soon, the first of many leaves that made up part of the many flowers for the swirling pattern he had long memorized was stitched into being. He felt a soft touch on his knee and looked up to see Ori there.

Bilbo immediately smiled and set the hoop to the side. _“Budget for the Weavers’ Guild?”_ Bilbo gestured and Ori nodded.

Bilbo immediately pulled the proper budgeting papers to him and began to work.

*~*~*

Nori hummed as he looked over what he had gathered and what Bilbo had told him. Waiting and seeing was the best option that they had, despite the fact that they were trying to _kill_ his boss.

That is unpleasant.

“But _why_? It isn’t like they could get Thorin remarried and Thorin would just be a King without a Consort,” Nori muttered lowly as he continued to think it over.

“And they’re all married, so it isn’t like they could become his lovers,” Nori added with a huff.

He sighed. “I hate assassination plots that seem to have nothing beyond killing someone off. The loss of the Consort would only hurt their Guilds, hurt _them_ , so _why_ do they want to kill him?” Nori muttered as he let his eyes flicker about the piles of reports.

He sighed and leaned back, rubbing his eyes before he decided he would need to ‘borrow’ the old law books only those of the Scriveners’ Guild had access to, which is the Guild _every_ adviser was part of. He wondered who _that_ Master reported to and he sighed before he stood up.

Time to do a little research.

*~*~*

“You stole a _law book_?” Bilbo slurred out and Nori grinned unashamedly at him.

The Hobbit, whenever he was calm, whenever he _wasn’t_ nervous or surrounded by people, was much better at speaking clearly. For it was only around people he felt safe with, since he spoke clearer with Bifur and Ori as well, while he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, speak around most others at _all_.

(And Nori felt oddly pleased by the fact Bilbo felt safe with him, even if it was almost a completely foreign feeling to him.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scriveners' Guild is a guild for those who write court letters and legal document. Balin is part of this Guild, as is any adviser.
> 
> For Dwarves, you can be part of two Guilds, so long as you do not, in fact, hold a position of power within them. Such as a Master and the Guild Council (four other Dwarves) can only be part of that one Guild. They usually give up their membership when they are elected Master or Council Member.
> 
> I don't think I've mentioned a lot of the Guild Names for a reason; I couldn't find Guild names.
> 
> I found a site that has a list of Medieval London Guilds, and I will probably edit things, but it allowed me to find the proper names for things.
> 
> As such the Moneychangers, the Blacksmith, and Weaver and a few others have been mentioned. Dwarves do have a variety of blanket and specialized Guilds.
> 
> (For anyone wondering, Thorin is part of the Blacksmiths Guild, with a specialization in sword smithing, _only_. As it is he can barely keep up his membership with the Guild, and might have to let the membership go and just pay to use the forge when he had the time.)


	32. Steps Forward (and Another Book Stolen)

Nori huffed softly as he turned the pages of the book.

A lot of it was stuffy double-talk that would take a great deal less space if they just wrote it out like  _normal_ people, but of course they couldn't. He resisted the urge to smack his head against the heavy tome (which was a slight exaggeration as a he could not have carried a tome out of the Scriveners’ Guild’s library) and sighed as he continued to slog his way through the backwards and forwards writing.

_A Consort, whether they are the Monarch’s or Heir’s, must manage and regulate all funds for any and all Guilds that have been considered for the home. Whether Consort be male or female, the Consort’s duty is to keep the Mountain’s day to day life running efficiently and smoothly as well as keeping it hearty and hale while the Monarch and Heir work to protect the Mountain from outside threats._

Nori groaned.

Of course.

On top of that, Nori was pretty sure Bilbo was going to be taking over talking to the Mirkwood Elves on a regular basis, since from Ori, who took a great deal of pleasure in learning Bilbo’s gesture language (and Nori was going to have the Hobbit teach him that because a gesture language that was not known on this side of the Misty Mountains was useful) Nori had learned that Bilbo was essentially a ‘nephew’ to the King and Queen of Mirkwood, making him ‘cousin’ to the Princes. That type of political connection was, again, another reason that Bilbo ended up being a wise choice for Heir’s Consort.

Beyond the whole ‘Shire very fertile and generous and _has a lot of food and animals to send_ ’ part.

Nori sighed and continued to struggle through the long winded passages.

Ugh.

Nobles so obviously wrote this curse upon the written language.

Nori rubbed his thumb along his forehead and wondered (idly) if he could just get Ori to translate this into normal people speak before shrugging it off and focusing on the words on the page.

_Upon the Consort’s death, if there be any children that are out of line for the Throne and the Heir be unmarried, said child, if of age, immediately take over the Consort’s duties and are admitted into training for the Scriveners’ Guild so they may become the future Consort’s adviser. This is an honored position that holds great importance, but once a Consort takes their place in overseeing the Guilds under his or her command, may find that there is no way to go back._

Nori frowned at that passage.

“May find there is no way back? Really?” Nori grumbled and continued, but it was mind numbing.

Maybe this is why all the advisers, with few exceptions, were so…irritatingly boring.

He sighed and reread the passage a few more times before he moved on.

_Should the Consort have died and the Heir’s Consort taken his or her place, the child of the Monarch’s Consort that has given up the Throne becomes their First Adviser in all things and teaches them what is needed to be known to budget and, subtly, manage the Guilds so the peace within the Mountain is kept so that the Monarch and Heir may keep their eyes firmly to the outside of the Mountain._

“Lovely. Where’s the bloody anything about what happens if the Heir’s Heir and the Heir’s Heir’s Brother are still in bloody line for the stupid throne?” Nori grumbled as he skipped a few paragraphs that exalted the virtues of the Consort’s duty.

There was also a small section that explained what should happen if the Monarch passed before the Consort (a common occurrence as the Consort kept to the Mountain while the Monarch went to battle), and the Heir was married and ascended the throne (the Heir’s Consort would slowly take over, allowing the Consort to take over as First Adviser). There was also a section about if none of the children were of age, in which case the First Adviser to the Consort would take over “till such time as one more appropriate could be found.”

The various provisions and such went along for eight more pages, describing in length all the different scenarios, omitting the one Nori was looking for.

He groaned and continued searching, feeling like his brain was going to melt out of his ears, which was the reason he had not gone to any Smithing Guilds.

However, after reading the entire tome, twice, he found nothing to explain what would happen should Bilbo die. What was the purpose?

He sighed softly as he reread the one passage that had anything to do with possible Heir’s Consort’s death upon taking over from the Consort or, in Bilbo’s case, his First Adviser, Dís.

“There is no way to go back,” Nori mused and groaned.

He was going to have to steal the marriage contract law book _s_.

Lovely.

*~*~*

Bilbo was working on embroidering a border of bluebells on a section of the cotton cloth that was the perfect size for a handkerchief four days after being put on ‘bed rest’, when he felt the faint vibrations that came from the front door of the quarters he shared with Thorin being slammed.

He looked up to find Thorin looking royally ticked off.

When Bilbo’s unintentional pun registered in his mind, he couldn’t stop his snort of amusement, though he did try to cover it with a cough.

He didn’t succeed as Thorin shot him an indecipherable look, before he strode over and flopped onto the couch that was sitting between the two matching chairs, though on the side closest to Bilbo.

At this, Bilbo settled his embroidery hoop to the side and leaned on the arm of his chair towards Thorin, focusing on his husband. It seemed like the best option as Thorin did not see to have fully gathered himself from his storming into the chambers.

Thorin then heaved a sigh and rubbed his eyes, before he seemed to slump back into the sofa. He then leaned forward, to the table between them, in a way, and pulled a sheet of cheap paper to himself along with a charcoal stick and began to write. He then carefully handed it over to Bilbo and leaned forward, as if they were having a conversation.

Thorin’s jaw was moving, but the shadows made it impossible to decipher, but Bilbo focused on the paper.

_Another law book was stolen from the Scriveners’ Guild._

Bilbo makes a sound that vibrates in his libs and rumbles deeply in his chest, but somehow skips his throat while still making it feel a little raw, and covers his face with his free hand.

Bilbo thinks the only thing keeping him from killing Nori is the fact Bilbo actually likes the star head.

*~*~*

“You stole _another_ law book?” Bilbo demanded the moment Nori got his attention, sounding unnaturally loud in the otherwise silent sitting room of the royal chambers.

The lunch hour had allowed Nori to slip up to check on his boss and now he wished he had waited.

Nori winced at the loud sound and moved forward to sit on the stool Ori had vacated and stare up at the Hobbit who was glaring at him. “Two books in four days?” Bilbo demanded, his voice catching and slurring slightly as he did so.

Nori shrugged in response before he completely leaned against Bilbo, entering his space and he heard the heavy sigh before Bilbo gently pet Nori’s shoulder in return. Nori huffed softly and picked up Ori’s abandoned lapdesk along with cheap paper to begin writing.

_Sorry, but assassination plots need more of a reason than ‘not a Dwarf.’_

Bilbo huffed and snatched the charcoal pencil out of Nori’s hand to write with his left hand, something he had never done before, and responded easily.

_Thank you for reminding me of that. I don’t know how I would have managed without you reminding me of the fact the general populace hates me entirely off of the fact I am not a Dwarf._

Nori snorted at that and snatched the charcoal pencil back to answer.

 _At least no one knows you are the adopted nephew of the King and Queen of Mirkwood_.

Bilbo huffed and stole the pencil back.

_At the time I called her ‘Auntie’, I had no idea she was a queen._

Nori huffed a laugh at that and smacked Bilbo’s shin lightly, which earned him a nudge. _Anything else?_

Bilbo wrote calmly and Nori shook his head before he shifted to relax against Bilbo’s legs, earning a soft, surprised, sound from the Hobbit. “What, your husband doesn’t cuddle?” Nori asked without thinking, though he was quick to snatch the charcoal pencil to translate what he said.

Once written, Nori twists around to stare up at Bilbo, who has picked up his embroidery hoop again, the needle already flashing through the cotton, though his eyes darted to Nori on occasion.

Once Bilbo had read the question, he just gives a wan smile and a shrug.

“Idiot,” Nori stated and left the stool to settle more comfortably against Bilbo’s legs, which earns him a disgruntled sound.

But, as Bilbo does not kick him or, even better, just move his legs so Nori falls over, Nori figures he’s not actually ticked the Hobbit off. There is a soft sigh and when Nori glances up again, it is to Bilbo having returned to his embroidery.

With Bilbo so focused on his work, and to the point that he could be a journeyman in the Craft, if not a master, Nori allows himself to observe Bilbo without fear of getting an eyebrow raise or, worse, a smile and a hand wave, as if Bilbo doesn’t matter.

He’s pale, and made paler by the light that has been reflected mixing with the fire from the hearth. There are circles on his eyes that were not there before and there are faint tremors in Bilbo’s hands, despite the steadiness of the needle.

Nori sighed and pat Bilbo’s knee, which gets Bilbo focusing on him as Nori stands. He gives a playful bow before, after a brief moment of hesitation, leaned forward and touched his forehead to Bilbo’s and left.

He had to slog his way through the marriage contract laws.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this moment, the bluebells aren't meant to represent anything.
> 
> But when I get my book on Victorian flowers, they will.


	33. Some Possibility of Insight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too tired. Will edit in actual notes later.

Bilbo Baggins felt as if a weight was pressing down on his chest.

It had been five days since he had been put onto bed rest and he had only gotten more exhausted and sick. He was also starting to desperately miss the sun and, most of all, the Shire, with her rolling green hills and flowers.

And Bag-End, though not as much as the Shire herself, for who would want to live in a place that echoed with the painful memories of what had been?

But he mostly misses the sun and the feeling of the breeze on his skin and his fingers itch to bury themselves into the dirt, to garden once more. The handkerchief of bluebells curls around the entire lower left section of the handkerchief in some rather implausible ways, and the last flourish has finished off the flowers, though Bilbo is now unsure of what he color he should use for his initials, or what they are anymore.

Dwarves don’t have last names, so he could quite possibly just stitch the interlocked _BB_ that he’s always done, but his hands are shaking too much to thread the new color on and, instead, he sets the hoop onto the bedside table.

Not for the last time, Bilbo wishes he had the strength to crawl out of bed and back to the sofa he’s been sleeping on since before being put on bed rest. Bed rest that kept getting lengthened with each visit and, as Ori transcribed for Bilbo, Óin has started to mutter about a sickness getting to Bilbo like it did the land.

(Ori’s ears are sharp, as far as Bilbo can tell, for such a statement was obviously never meant to reach the scribe to write down for Bilbo, but meant for Dís, who had hovered at the bedroom door that morning when Bilbo couldn’t even leave the bed he had been carried to by someone last night.)

In the meantime, Bilbo closed his eyes and took deep breaths, despite the pressure on his chest, and wondered over how to get to a place where he could at least feel the return of people. He doesn’t like this, being cut off from his only warning system, and he nearly shrieks when he feels a tug on the blankets, his eyes snapping open.

Ori is standing there, looking small despite his proper robes and Bilbo, with a shaking hand, waves Ori over. Together the pair curl over the ledgers and accounts, along with a petition for the Toymakers’ Guild, a subset of the Carpenters’ Guild, to become a Guild in their own right.

It would mean a great deal more work for Bilbo, having to petition the King for an increase in Bilbo’s “budget”, which must spread to pay for, not only to give the Guilds _their_ budget, but also pay for the upkeep of his Guard, the pay of the people who work within the Royal Wings of the Mountain, but _also_ give donations to various charities, and do any various ‘clean ups’ around the City that are for prettiness.

One such project is the refurbishment of a great sweeping mosaic, which Dís had hugged him for to the point of nearly crushing his ribs, that ‘oversees’ the market square. When Bilbo had gotten down there to oversee some shops, Bilbo had found that the mosaic looked sad and, in some ways looked like it could do a pick me up.

And possibly be finished, but first he would need to find the plans with it and then go talk to the Miners’ Guild in person, and possibly have to bribe them…

Bilbo’s mind grew dizzy thinking about it, even as he continued to consider the budget.

“Why does the Apothecaries’ Guild have so few funds?” Bilbo grumbles.

It makes no sense, especially since this is a ‘new’ change, as he can even see where they petitioned to the previous Consort and were accepted, and they should have still been supported by the Healers’ Guild, at least according to what Dís told him.

Already, Bilbo is spreading the ledgers across the bed, despite how his hands tremble, trying to find where the money is being moved to or from.

He frowns at the way the budget is skewed in the favor of those who work with metal and the miners and such, and yet at the same time not. There was money that said it went somewhere, but was lost and no further paper trail could be found and Bilbo was starting to feel a little ill at the idea of any of the Dwarves pocketing money, but it was falling in the cracks _somewhere_.

He looks up when Ori touches his arm, and he’s about to ask, when he finds that Thorin is standing in the doorway. He glances around, at the papers and ledgers that cover the bed, and Bilbo feels his face heat up.

However, Thorin doesn’t seem upset and, instead, walks forward.

Bilbo blinked in surprise to find that Thorin was carrying a tray of food and he had it balanced on one arm before he carefully moved the papers on Bilbo’s lap to the side, and then settled the tray on Bilbo’s lap.

Bilbo blinked down at the tray before he stared up at Thorin. Thorin, who seems at a loss now that he’s made sure Bilbo has food before he leaves and fetches more papers to add to the pile.

And, from lunch till the bell rings for dinner, Thorin, his husband and Heir to the Thorne, joins Ori and himself to work out where the money is slipping through the cracks.

They don’t find anything that night, but it is a start.

That night, Bilbo stays in the bed instead of disappearing to the sitting room and that not really comfortable sofa, but curled up tight near the edge and, while he’s facing Thorin, it is not out of any romantic notions but, instead…

It is because he wants to keep an eye on Thorin till he passes out.

(The next morning, Bilbo awakes, still in the same spot, to Thorin getting up.)

*~*~*

Nori huffs over the marriage contract law book _s_ , which he kept having to sneak back in to steal (though he returned the first one he stole), and the entire Mountain is in an uproar over it. He has poured over the stupid rules of marriage (and some of them Nori is _very_ glad to have seen stricken from them with simple red lines through them, but otherwise kept intact because _history_ ) and found nothing to explain the wanting to kill Bilbo.

It just makes no _sense_!

Even if they were skimming off the top, everything Nori can find points towards Bilbo needing to remain Heir’s Consort.

He groaned again and let his head thunk against a closed book, only to wish he hadn’t.

Ugh, that was…

Nori frowned as he sat up.

Books were _not_ made with metal.

With careful fingers Nori opened the book back up (this one talked about how to form marriage contracts and there were so many changes over the years for it that Nori had given up reading it for now) and he huffed softly at the fact that the book’s covers were both wider than they should have been.

A few minutes of searching allowed Nori to open up the cover to reveal carefully folded works. He immediately began to look through them, once reassured that they weren’t sealed.

Most had to do with odd things, like what happened if a child between Royal and Contracted Spouse was born out of wedlock, a record of non-Dwarfs marrying into the Royal Line (which, before Bilbo, hadn’t happened since the early Second Age, between a Dwarf and an Elf, which amused Nori somewhat), the proper way to introduce a non-Dwarf into the role of Consort (his amusement about the Dwarf-Elf coupling of the early Second Age died when he realized that they had broken the rules in this area _entirely_ when dealing with Bilbo), and, finally, the ‘in case Heir’s Consort dies’ was found.

Not that it was called that, but the name was so long and rambling that Nori didn’t bother trying to remember it.

No, instead he focused on the wording.

_In the case of the Heir’s Consort passing on after the Consort’s death **and** after the passing of the duties from the Royal Child out of line for the Throne to the Heir’s Consort, the now First Adviser **cannot** return to previous duties. Instead, another Child of the Line must give up their claim to the throne and take over **or** the Heir, unless having found the One they would give their Heart to in the Marriage to their Consort that had just passed, shall find that a second marriage contract can be drawn up should the majority of the Royal Council agree to it._

_Preferably such a contract would be drawn up between the Mountain and the land the First Consort came from. However, in the event that this is not possible, it is believed best to have the second Consort be picked from those of the Guilds within the Mountain, for they would be best suited and with minimal fuse for taking over the Consort’s duties quickly after marriage._

Nori stared at the paper and then frowned.

But…

This couldn’t be it either.

The Council of Guilds should not have access to this and, if the Guilds Bilbo oversaw _did_ have access to it, there is no way the majority of the Royal Council would agree to a second marriage!

Thorin was notoriously difficult to marry off in the first place and it had taken them going to the Shire, to a place who only knew of Thorin through _Balin_ (Balin, who was prone to painting Thorin in the best light possible), to get him married off.

Very few got to hear stories about previous attempts at, thankfully not _severely_ needed, marriage contracts between Thorin and their allies. Nori only knew about them because his predecessor, Maufri, told him. It was often Maufri who had to ‘smooth’ the way over then, much to Thráin’s aggravation.

Nori huffed slightly and then began to copy everything he considered important, only translated into real people speech.

Mostly because translating it once in his mind was enough trouble and he had no desire to repeat that process every time he referenced these notes.

“Maybe I should have kidnapped Ori to help me,” Nori muttered as he began to work on it, a quill scratching the only sound that filled the air as he worked.

Ugh.

There was a reason he hadn’t joined the Scribes’ Guild _or_ the Scriveners’ Guild.

*~*~*

A week had passed since he had been put on bed rest and, if everything was what it said it was, it was nearing his one month anniversary. He had been in Erebor for a month.

It felt like years.

He let out a low sigh, which set off a coughing fit. He curled over as his eyes squeezed shut and he fell back with shiver. When he opened his eyes, he was unsurprised to see Bifur at the foot of the bed.

The guard immediately settled next to Bilbo and reached out, his hand gentle as he ran his hand through Bilbo’s curls. Bilbo’s eyes immediately slid closed and he leaned into the touch, letting out a tuneless hum as he did so. Bifur continued, careful of the braid that now rested along the left side of his head, and Bilbo felt himself slipping into a light doze that had him sinking into the pillows.

He, distantly, felt Bifur shifting him till he was resting against Bifur’s chest and Bilbo turned boneless, sinking trustingly into Bifur’s embrace as the Dwarf continued to soothe him into an untroubled sleep.

*~*~*

Thorin sighed as he scrubbed his hand through his hair, deftly avoiding mussing the braids, as he headed for the shared bedroom, only to stop short in the open doorway at the scene he found himself staring at.

Bilbo was curled up against Bifur’s chest, eyes closed, and completely relaxed, as if he had found the safest place in the world…and it wasn’t Thorin.

A sharp pain lanced his chest at the sight, at the sight of seeing Bilbo practically cuddling with Bifur, who seemed content to pet Bilbo’s head like he was a pet. Thorin took a step forward and Bifur looked up at him before he looked back down at Bilbo, who only let out a soft exhale, as if whatever tension was still there was eased with Bifur massaging Bilbo’s scalp.

“What’s going on?” Thorin asked, though he knew (knew in that way people never truly do) that Bilbo wouldn’t cheat.

At least, he _hoped_ Bilbo wouldn’t.

It would be grating to learn that Thorin had been abstaining while Bilbo had not been.

“He needed to sleep,” Bifur rumbled softly and frowned down at Bilbo, who continued to relax against Bifur’s chest.

“He also needs to go outside,” Bifur added.

“Óin said he needs bed rest,” Thorin argued.

Bifur snorted softly at that, but said nothing more as he continued to pet Bilbo’s hair before he carefully settled Bilbo back onto the bed. Bilbo’s breathing immediately went from being relatively easy to having a low whistle to it. Thorin frowned at that, even as Bifur stood and gave a sharp bow before he left Thorin to stare at Bilbo, wondering what it was about the guard that had earned Bilbo’s trust.

And what Thorin had done to earn such mistrust.

But in the meantime, Thorin would stew in his jealousy and watch the Hobbit sleep.


	34. Friendly Plotting and Taken Over Beds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone wondering, yeah.........this went so far off the tracks for the prompt that it isn't even funny.
> 
> *headdesks*

"Kíli, wait!" Fíli called from somewhere down the corridor and Kíli only picked up speed, carefully carrying stacks of papers that Uncle Bilbo, Uncle Thorin, Amad, and Ori had requested that Kíli fetch from Bilbo's office.

Not the desk, which had things, but the storage area for the copies (in Westron so Bilbo could read it) of everything that had been maneuvered about. The copies had been overseen by Balin and Amad, and...

"Kíli, will you just  _stop_?" Fíli called, louder than before,  _closer_  than before, and Kíli picked up speed, ignoring his brother as he tried to get back to Thorin's chambers.

He didn't want to talk to Fíli, he didn't even want to  _see_  Fíli! If he didn't see Fíli for the rest of the day he would be a  _very_  happy...

Kíli’s thoughts were cut off by a hand grasping his shoulder and turning him around harshly, thought catching his arms so that nothing was dropped. Kíli was glaring before he knew who it was and his glare only increased upon seeing that it was Fíli who had grabbed him. “Kíli, will you just stop and listen?” Fíli demanded.

“No, and why should I? You never listen to me! Just because you’re the older brother doesn’t mean you are always in the right!” Kíli snapped as he yanked himself from his brother’s rough grip.

He stumbled slightly as he did so and nearly sent his armful of papers, scrolls, and fine books scattering across the hallway. Fíli and Kíli stared at each other for a moment, Kíli breathing heavily as he kept a tight rein on his temper while Fíli seemed to be like the pool with crystals sharp across the bottom.

“There was a time when you would have done that, no matter how mad you were at me!” Fíli demanded as he grabbed for Kíli once more, all smooth emotion and so much like Thráin when he wanted something done, now, that Kíli wrenched himself away.

He had to clutch at the armful, crinkling some of it, but he didn’t care.

He didn’t care how Fíli seemed to pull back, as if his hand had been struck or how he stopped looking so princely and more like a lost child.

But Kíli didn't care, not now. "You're right, there was a time. But not now. Now, you're acting like a spoiled little princeling who is ready to throw a temper tantrum because he didn't get his way. Because the Dwarf standing before me is not my brother. My brother would never be one who sneers at someone who is doing their best in a culture not their own and who doesn't argue when he's prodded into being made into a little Dwarf when he's  _not_  and who has proven, many times over, that he's anything but stupid, and yet continuously gets treated as such, and  _that_  is when they decide to look at him like a person instead of a necessary irritant! My brother would never look down at someone because of the fact they are not a Dwarf  _especially_  when he is trying so very hard to do his very best, and  _has done his best to the point that he is better at the job than Amad_ _ever_ _was_! And until you vacate my brother's skin and bring my brother back, I  _will not_  listen to whatever poison will drip past your lips!" Kíli hissed out and, without waiting for a response from Fíli, he turned on his heel and he ran down the hallway, easily slipping through people.

He didn’t lose a single paper.

But he felt like he had lost something anyway.

*~*~*

The snow and wind battered the sides of the mountain when Bifur began to plot how to get Bilbo out of bed.

Two weeks of bed rest had done little to aid in Bilbo’s health and had, in fact, seemed to make it worse. There was something more to it, Bifur was sure, but part of it, Bifur was sure, was due to the lack of something that Hobbits needed.

And so Bifur began to think about the Shire.

Open, airy, and green.

Everything was open and, even though Hobbits lived under the ground, it was close…

“Ûrzud!” Bifur exclaimed as his mind immediately began to scramble for how to get Bilbo into the sun.

The snowstorm was building on the eastern front but…there was Ravenhill. And it would be good to get Bilbo introduced to the ravens anyway.

Ravenhill also had nice enclosed areas that would keep the snow, mostly, off of them while allowing any sun that peeked through to come out. Bifur continued to contemplate even as he worked on getting back to Bilbo’s side to relieve whichever guard of _his_ was on duty at the moment.

Guard duties were split evenly between the Heir’s Guard and the Heir’s Consort’s Guard, and Bifur was practically humming excitedly as he made his way back to the Heir’s quarters.

He dismissed one of Bilbo’s guard and slipped in, noting that Bilbo was hacking up a lung and that the bed was overtaken with papers, scrolls, and books. Ori was sitting on the floor, frowning over a pair of pages, comparing them to the point that he was probably going cross-eyed, Thorin was bringing over a mug of what was probably tea, and Dís was rubbing Bilbo’s back.

There were a pile of handkerchiefs on the side table, obviously not ones bought by Bilbo as they lacked any floral motifs, such as the ones that Bilbo had been working on when first trapped to the bed.

Thorin handed the mug to Dís, who frowned at Thorin before she carefully helped Bilbo sip some, once the coughing was under control. Bilbo let out a wheezing sigh and leaned back on the pillows, before his eyes caught Bifur.

He immediately smiled and waved Bifur in, who merely shook his head and nodded to the outside. Bilbo nodded tiredly and focused back on the papers that were spread across the bed.

Bifur stepped to the side as Kíli walked in quickly, settling even more pages, books, and scrolls next to Ori. “Everything you asked me to bring you Uncle Thorin. Do you need me to go get Balin?” Kíli asked in a tight voice.

“That would be of great help Kíli,” Thorin answered, his forehead creasing as he glanced at Kíli.

Kíli who was reminding Bifur of a bow that was strung too tightly and about to split down the middle. Kíli, who looked about ready to just storm off when a soft sound, raspy and catching in the wrong places, broke through the air.

Kíli immediately turned to the sound, his eyes falling on Dís and Bilbo, both of who were watching Kíli.

He stilled and then he was across the room, curling up in the free spot between Dís and Bilbo and Thorin was suddenly ushering Ori out while Bifur just stepped out of the bedchamber.

Bifur didn’t question why Kíli needed his mother and uncle, Bifur just accepted it as something that he should pretend he didn’t see.

Instead, he took up his usual position while on duty and plucked a block of wood from one of his pockets, along with his whittling knife, and began to carve.

What, Bifur didn’t know, but he let the wood guide him.

And whatever it was that had driven Kíli to their arms, Bilbo and Dís would sort out what was wrong.

And, quite possibly, the young prince would fix it on his own, once he regained the strength to stand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, no 'whisking Bilbo out to the sun' this chapter, but it is coming.
> 
> Also, originally, Kili's theory was supposed to be revealed. Sorry that didn't happen, but will probably happen, hopefully, in the next part. Right now, this feels like a nice place to stop and it will tide everyone everyone while I gear up for Kili's theory.
> 
> But hey, that means we are one leap closer to the end of this part, so YAY!!!


	35. Council Meeting and Raven Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sannhild is a Swedish name (at least I think it is because of research) that means "true" (or "truthful") "battle" (or "fight")
> 
> Sann = "true, truthful"  
> Hild = "battle, fight"
> 
> I liked it.
> 
> No one else has a name that means anything, but thought you'd like to know.

Dís wondered how upset Adad would be with her if she just killed a majority of the Consort's (or, in this case the Heir's Consort's) Council and threatened the rest into good behavior. She knew that Bilbo falling ill was not the Hobbit's fault, but she couldn't help but be irritated at the little being for falling ill _now_.

Mostly because, shockingly, he was better at the job then Dís was, and she had grown up in Erebor. Then again, maybe that was why. While she had grown up here, and knew what was wrong, she did not have that 'step back' perspective that Bilbo always told her she should employ. He was  _good_ at finding those patterns and what was wrong, and who to placate before it got out of hand, and who needed to be knocked down a peg by just watching them at two meetings and in a few feasts.

Not to mention what the paperwork he was pouring over in the room he shared with Thorin.

By Mahal, she hoped they were starting to talk. Hopefully her boys were actually working in earnest over the Iglishmêk lessons, though she knew those had gone a bit to the wayside with digging through the paperwork.

Centuries of paperwork.

How had Amad dealt with all of this?

“Lady Dís?” one of the Dwarves called and she focused on Domli, Head of the Broderers’ Guild.

From a lineage that originated further south before migrating up to Erebor, his ancestry showed clearly in his dark skin, freckles dotting along his cheeks, his hair and beard shockingly white against his skin. He always held a place of attention wherever he went and Dís was sure that there would never be another who was so concerned with his Guild after he passed. “Yes?” she inquired.

“When do you think Heir’s Consort Bilbo will be able to join us?” he inquired lightly and Dís considered.

“In a few days is the hope. Till then, I’m afraid any arguments over stipends must wait. Sannhild?” Dís explained, though she immediately focused on the eerily pale Head of the Courtesans’ Guild when Sannhild stood.

Dís still did not understand why they fell under the “Consort’s” Guilds, as it were, but there they were. “One of my Courtesans is still waiting for my approval in leaving the Guild. You know as well as I that any Courtesan Guild member needs royal permission before being released from his or her contract,” Sannhild explained as she carefully pulled her bronzed hair off her shoulders, each movement calculated to draw attention to herself.

“It will be the first thing Bilbo looks into the moment he’s on his feet. One of the things he’s been complaining about,” Dís stated and Sannhild gave a nod, her heavily braided beard glinting slightly in the light, before she sat back down, all exotic grace and gentle manners.

There were whispers that followed Sannhild that she was half Elf, though Dís highly doubted that. For one, she was one of the shortest Dwarves Dís had ever known. For another, despite her exotic grace and the way she moved, she was very Dwarvish in manner otherwise. She just moved in a way that was odd, for a Dwarf. Enough to make people look, to remember the pale Dwarf lady that walked among them, Master and Head of the Courtesans’ Guild, never to be ignored and always to be remembered.

“If that’s all, I call this meeting to a close,” Dís ordered and they nodded, leaving with soft murmurs.

As soon as they left, Dís let out a low sigh, and got up, Ori slipping out of his corner. “Got everything?” she inquired as she watched the little scribe shuffle things around on his desk.

“Quite, Lady Dís. And Fíli wishes to remind you that you two are meant to meet for a fight in one of the lower rings,” Ori stated and Dís nodded a bit before she chuckled and rolled her shoulders.

“Tell Bilbo I send my greetings and well wishes and I’ll be sending my son to the ground for him,” she stated with a wave as she walked out.

After this, she might go swing by Sannhild’s quarters.

Dís needed to get away from the stupidity of the men in her family and talk to someone with _sense_. And maybe spend a little more time doing something _more_ than talking.

*~*~*

Bilbo let out a sigh that turned into a coughing fit as Bifur worked him into much warmer clothes then what he had been wearing. _“Where are we going?”_ he gestured and Bifur nodded to the nearest wall, as if that would explain everything.

As Bifur helped tug a hat onto his head to cover his ears, Bilbo suddenly understood and felt as if his entire body woke up. “Outside?” he asked excitedly as he grabbed at Bifur’s wrists and he had to repeat himself a few times, the vibrations rumbling through him each time, before Bifur nodded with a bright smile behind his beard.

Bilbo smiled at that, releasing Bifur’s wrists, and let out a sound that vibrated high in his throat and behind his nose as Bifur picked him up. He clutched at Bifur, even as the Dwarf strode out, two more guards following after them.

He hoped someone left a note for Ori, or that Ori knew already, where they were going as they strode down at a slight upward angle, Bilbo holding onto Bifur as they slipped into further darkness. Bilbo shifted at that and frowned at the loss of his sight, clutching at Bifur, even as Bifur’s chest began to rumble in a comforting way that soon had Bilbo relaxing once more, even as some coughs forced their way out of Bilbo’s throat.

As they continued on their way through the tunnel, Bilbo saw distant light, before they were in a small building that only had some light peeking through the doorway. When they walked through the doorway, as well as some high windows, it was bright to the point of blinding him, and he felt himself blinking rapidly as leaned up into the sun that was all around him. For the first time in who knew how long, he was getting uninterrupted sun that made him feel _alive_. He could practically feel parts of him long fallen asleep and to the wayside waking up. Sharp bites of cold across his nose and cheeks told him that it was probably well into winter, that there was probably _snow_ , but Bilbo just leaned further up into the sunlight, even as repeated blinking was only giving him the distant impression of sky.

Eventually he just closed his eyes, clutching to Bifur, and absorbing the much missed sun, not noticing as he felt the cough soothe away.

That warmth that was filling him, despite the cold that numbed his face and even the tips of his ears, despite the fact those were hidden under his hat, and even his toes, was enough to have him throwing his head back and laughing.

He knew laughter, for it rumbled through his upper chest, and under his collarbones and against his nose. There was an answering rumble, but Bilbo didn’t mind, for he was happy and warm, and there was sun.

There were ways this could be better (no snow, no cold, having a relationship with Thorin, even if it was just friendship), but this was wonderful.

It would be some time before Bilbo risked opening his eyes again. A few blinks had him tensing, seeing all the _snow_ everywhere, but considering how easily Bifur was walking through it, heading back a ways to the building they had come out of, Bilbo figured that it wasn’t as deep as it looked.

Hopefully.

Around him, he saw a few of his guards walking, making sure no threat rushed over the snow (the thought of that had Bilbo closing his eyes tightly and turning his face into Bifur’s shoulder, trying to run from nightmares in the daytime) to kill him. More comforting rumbles filled him and he felt a tap on his shoulder. He looked up to find that the building they had walked through was an aviary.

An aviary for ravens, who were perched around, peering down at him curiously. Bifur, hesitantly, set him on his feet and, when he stood tall and firm like an oak, though he trembled slightly, Bifur backed away.

Immediately the ravens drifted down to perch on him. No beaks opened to caw at him, but they settled around him, a piece of the Green Lady within the mountain, helping the Stone King’s children and he smiled. He ducked his head slightly and a raven immediately began to run his beak through Bilbo’s curls.

The feeling of wind passing over him, a brush of feather against his cheek and soon the ravens were fluttering back up to their perches around the aviary as a very old raven flew down into Bilbo’s eyesight.

For a moment, they regarded each other and Bilbo, with a raven still preening Bilbo’s hair, gave the best bow he could manage. The old, balding, raven eyed Bilbo and then nodded before he flew up. The ravens immediately crowed Bilbo once more, but they remained silent, happy to take in Bilbo’s presence, before they fluttered away.

The raven that had spent the time preening Bilbo’s hair, flew off then, though he winged out into the cold, and Bilbo turned to Bifur in confusion, to find Ori standing with him, both talking to each other.

“Ori?” Bilbo called and Ori jumped slightly before he turned, face in shadow.

Bilbo groaned and walked over, turning them slightly he could look Ori in the face. He was sure Bifur was chuckling at that and he smiled at the scribe for a brief moment, before he was being pulled into a tight hug.

Bilbo laughed softly and hugged Ori back before he leaned back. Ori nodded back to the mountain and Bilbo sighed before he nodded. Ori smiled and the pair headed back inside, Bifur at their heels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *casual slips link to this series blog into the end notes*
> 
> http://deafbilbonosmaugau.tumblr.com/
> 
> *runs for the hills*


	36. Crows Above a Carcass

Thorin sighed softly as he reined in his temper over the irritants that called themselves his father's Council and resisted the urge to throw them all out of the chamber. It did not matter that he was only taking his father's seat while his father surveyed the newest mines for they were all acting as if he had the power to truly change anything. Or give them more money.

He did not. He in fact had to run it by with his Consort and talk with the Moneychangers' Guild, balancing the kingdom’s treasury against the needs. It was all about balance and trying to figure out where to put the money for defense, for internal affairs, for anything. Not to mention that the money ‘given’ by the Crown was, truly, just a loan, in a way, and paid back with guild fees as well as a portion of the total commissions. The money circulated back into the kingdom to be used towards the betterment of the kingdom in whatever way was considered best, though Bilbo had more power in that then Thorin or Thrór did as the kingdom was the home. The place of refuge and sanctuary that the Consort was in charge of guarding had priority and Thorin let out a long, quiet, sigh from slightly parted lips.

He wanted to spend time with his husband , not his Consort, though thankful the illness that had wrapped itself around his Consort allowed that. He glanced over when Balin made a discreet movement and stared down at the change of the money. The Cavalry wished for a higher pay grade so that they could barter for better ponies, something he knew his father would approve of if Thorin reminded his king that this meant they could cover more ground in a shorter period of time on patrols. He glanced, briefly, over at Balin, who gave a small nod and Thorin nodded.

“I will take these before my father tonight in private council and we will decide if a shift in funds is needed,” Thorin stated as he stood up, pulling his power around him.

“The Council of the King is dismissed,” he stated and with murmurs and bows, the Council dispersed, though the Generals that manned one of each of the branches of Erebor’s military might hesitated before they left.

Balin carefully straightened the papers and tied them into a leather wrap folder. Balin then carefully poured the blue wax over the ribbon and Thorin pressed his seal into the wax as it hardened, allowing it to be carried by any to his father’s office. “Page,” Thorin called, unsurprised when one of the oldest ones ran out of the shadows.

“Deliver this to the King’s office,” Thorin ordered.

The page nodded with a quick bow and a murmur of, “Yes, your Highness.”

He was then gone and Thorin sighed softly. “The rest are dismissed,” Thorin ordered and two more pages slipped out of the shadows to run out the door after the one who had run to deliver the papers to his father’s office.

Thorin began to search the room for more pages before he relaxed as Dwalin nodded once to show that they were clear. “They were as noisy as crows over a carcass today,” Thorin stated and Balin nodded.

“Makes you wonder what they know that we don’t,” Dwalin added which caused a frown, dark and deep, to cut its way across Thorin’s face.

He then sighed and turned to the doorway as he squared his shoulders. “Let us do a tour of the Guild Hall and then I’ll break for lunch in my quarters,” Thorin stated and Balin nodded.

“Very well, Thorin,” Balin answered and began to walk toward the door, Thorin at his heels.

Dwalin only paused briefly, glancing around the King’s Council Chamber before he followed after Thorin.

For a moment, the air was still in the wake of the doors closing behind the trio with an air of finality to it that spoke of silence till tomorrow. The stillness remained for only a few more minutes before a tapestry fluttered and Nori dropped down.

“What do they know indeed,” Nori mused as he walked over to a dark corner, leaving the room to stillness and silence once more.

_*~*~*_

Thorin’s steps were heavy as he walked through the halls, Dwalin close behind him. A walk of the Guilds had shown less apprentices overall this year than any before and whisper was because of a lack of funds to pay for those apprentices, which made no sense. If everything was as balanced as the books said, there should have been plenty of money, not only for apprentices, but better quality of items.

Thorin sighed softly as he realized he was going to have to spend this lunch as he had previous with his husband going over those accounts. Every single shift of paper, every tiny slip that held the financial history of the Guilds, and he would probably have to call Glóin up to help them in a more involved manner than they were going into now, which made him sigh.

The Moneychangers’ Guild was one of the few that had a noticeably larger amount of apprentices from last year, the young apprentices with white ribbons threaded through their braids, family beads holding them tight, a bow tied under the beads. It was one Thorin remembered when he was apprentice in the Blacksmith Guild, so proud to have gotten those ribbons.

Every apprentice, no matter their station, got white or black ribbons, whichever would stand out best against their hair, no matter the station and for that alone Thorin would have loved going down to the forges. The fact that it called to him, that creating _anything_ in the forges called to him, just made going there all the more…settling. The fact he had been unable to go to the forges set aside from the Blacksmiths’ Guild just made Thorin all the more irritable than the fact his husband was ill already did.

He frown deepened as he opened the door to his chambers to only be met with silence. He shut the door behind him, Dwalin released for the next coming on duty, and walked towards the fireplace that took up a portion of the welcoming chamber, only to realize that the chambers held the chill that came with the fires being banked, as they would be empty.

He walked quickly over to the bedroom, but there was only a made-up bed with carefully stacked papers around the room. Thorin turned on his heel and began to march through his chambers. A quick look through the private office that was reserved for days that he had to work from his quarters, usually, as well as the bathing room, the water closet, the room dedicated to his weapons and armor, and the spare rooms that were cared for purely so they did not become large dust catchers.

He turned on his heel, a chill creeping into his chest as he marched back towards the entry to his chambers and opened the door, startling the guard standing there. While not Dwalin, he would suffice for the walk to gather Dwalin and go find his…

There was a laugh echoing up the hallway, foreign to Thorin’s ears, that seemed to bounce through the stone. He frowned as he walked towards the laughter and turned a corner to the hidden balcony, where the sound seemed to be coming from, to find himself staring out over the pathway that lead from Ravenhill. He frowned down, only to still upon seeing that it was Bilbo, who was being held by Bifur.

Ori was walking next to the pair, his squeak easily carrying as Bifur shifted Bilbo in his grip, the guards around them eyeing the shadows almost idly. None feared danger for the Heir’s Consort within Erebor and Thorin heisted for a brief moment before he turned away from the scene below, striding quickly away to meet them.

He needed to have _words_ with his Consort.

*~*~*

Walking down from Ravenhill so soon after gaining his feet had probably not been the best idea Bilbo had ever had. He had quickly found himself tired and having trouble breathing, though he felt much better than before.

He hadn’t even reached the steps yet before he had to lean on Ori and had to practically use Ori as a crutch just to get down said steps. He was exhausted and having some trouble breathing, but his cheeks were hurting from all the smiling, which made it worth it. The longing for the sun was already returning, though, which marred his joy, but not enough to dim it entirely.

Once they were on the level path that would lead back to the quarters Bilbo shared with Thorin, he was surprised when he felt familiar, strong, arms scoop him up, a laugh being torn from his chest as he was spun slightly. He clung to Bifur’s shoulders, a smile on his face as he felt Bifur shift his grip effortlessly and hold him easily as they continued to walk, Bilbo coughing lightly into his shoulder as held onto his guard.

As they walked along, Bilbo relaxed against Bifur’s chest, resting his head against Bifur’s shoulder, almost against his neck, and closed his eyes, trusting Bifur to keep him safe. Each step was measured and calm, the steps effortless, until they stilled, Bilbo’s syrup thick breathing seeming to slide through the air. He twitched when he felt Bifur tense and tighten his hold, before he carefully looked over, coughing at the movement, to find Thorin standing in the middle, an unknown guard where Dwalin usually stood, right at his left arm.

Bilbo couldn’t help but shrink back slightly against Bifur when he saw the thunderstorm that resided in his Dwarf husband’s eyes and across his face.


	37. The Loss of Temper (Warnings in Chapter Summary)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mention of Spousal Abuse  
> Fear of Spousal Abuse  
> Bilbo has a panic attack  
> Medical ickyness

Thorin felt as if his blood was boiling and he yanked his eyes away from Bilbo, who was curled into Bifur's chest, and glared at Bifur. "What do you think you are doing? Óin said that Bilbo needed bed rest and here you are, risking his life!" Thorin snapped, hands curling into fists at his side.

Bifur gripped Bilbo tighter, shifting him closer, and turned slightly so that his shoulder was toward Thorin. It was a move familiar to Thorin, one he remembered when he was younger and there had been an, attempted, revolt that had killed his bodyguard at the time as he was impaled from behind. To see Bilbo’s head guard doing so with Thorin just had him gritting his teeth, his jaw already starting to ache with how hard he was clenching it. He could feel his muscles slowly hardening from his fury and he glared at Bifur. “Explain yourself!” Thorin ordered and Bifur glared, even as Ori hesitantly stepped forward.

“Your Highness, Heir’s Consort Bilbo…” Ori began, only to get cut off with a squeak as Thorin looked at him, the scribe shrinking back from the look.

“Bed rest was hurting him,” Bifur stated and Thorin looked back at him, feeling as if his blood was trying to boil him alive when he saw how Bilbo was burying his face into the crook of Bifur’s neck, clutching at the guard tightly.

Bifur shifted his grip slightly, adjusting so he only needed to hold Bilbo with one arm, and braced himself. “Bed rest wasn’t helping, it was making it worse. Hobbits need sun and see, he is already better! He is already looking healthy, instead of like death warmed over,” Bifur snarled as he curled more around the Hobbit, further hiding Bilbo from Thorin’s sight.

Thorin felt his muscles tense, from the back of his neck, across his shoulders and down his back in a way that he knew would make him look bigger through training, a way to push his position, his word, over the masses. He wore power around him like a sword in a scabbard and now he drew it to do battle with a guard. “It is not your position to decide that!” Thorin snarled.

“It is my job to keep him safe from all things, and that includes you!” Bifur snarled and Thorin stepped forward, filling the space in front of the guard.

Bifur didn’t back down, instead bracing himself for whatever was about to come, and Thorin bit back the urge to snarl. He was about to step forward further, to try and force Bifur into submitting to his authority, when loud, harsh, coughing filled the area.

Thorin immediately stilled and looked down, to find Bilbo coughing into his elbow, thick and heavy, unlike the others, which were harsh and dry. Bifur shifted before he turned with his back to Thorin and helped Bilbo to stand on his own as he doubled over and thick, greenish-white mucus hit the ground. Bilbo made a disturbed sound at that and Ori had come forward to rub his back calmly, even as Bilbo continued to hack, more mucus hitting the ground.

Mucus which hadn’t been coming for a few days now, leaving Óin to worry for his lungs, and which was now coming out in gobs, despite Bilbo’s wordless distress. He’s also, with only some minor support, standing on his own.

Thorin stared and then turned to his guard, looking past to find a page who had, most likely, followed them when he had seen Thorin in a rage. “Go fetch some of the cleaning staff for the area, now,” Thorin ordered and the page gave a quick bow before they ran off.

He turned back around in time to see Bifur scooping Bilbo back up into his arms, Bilbo’s breathing heavy and almost exhausting to listen to. Thorin stepped forward, cautiously, arms out to offer to carry his husband back to their quarters when Bilbo did a full-bodied flinch.

Thorin stilled and then stepped back, feeling himself slip behind a stone cold mask as, without a word, Bifur slipped past him, Ori making the proper good-byes before he raced after Bifur, the rest of Heir’s Consort’s Guards following hesitantly after them, but Thorin made no move to stop them or demand answers.

He stood there for a few more minutes, taking a few deep breaths, and then he turned and began to walk away from the chambers he shared with his Consort.

The armory was due for a surprise inspection anyway.

*~*~*

Bilbo hadn’t stopped trembling since Thorin confronted them in the hallway. What about, Bilbo didn’t know, but he knew that his husband had been angry.

And where could Bilbo go? This wasn’t the Shire, where the occasional spouse with one that had a ‘temper’ could run and be sheltered with their children, if they had in. Where could he run, if Thorin got into a ‘temper’ that started like today’s fit of temper, only it didn’t stay with words?

Bilbo jumped slightly when he felt someone touch him and he felt his chest, constricted as it was, trying to suck in more air. The desperate inhale, however, only set off another round of coughing. Each heave made his lungs throb in time with his head, and this time there is a bucket to hack into, more mucus sliding into it, someone rubbing his back.

Bilbo shivered violently at the combination of the slimy feeling of the mucus and the feeling of being touched.

He slowly pulled back from the bucket, feeling a high, ticklish sensation in the back of his throat as he pulled back and he looked up to find that it was Bifur who had rubbed his back. The earlier touch that had set off his coughing attack was the fact Bifur had started to remove his partially soaked through clothing.

Ori had held the bucket as he coughed and Bilbo smiled weakly up at the scribe in thanks. Ori smiled weakly back and carefully set the bucket to the side before he wandered over to Bilbo’s wardrobe to pull out warm, Dwarvish, versions of Bilbo’s Hobbit attire.

Bilbo managed to get, mostly, changed on his own and by the time he was in clean, semi-warm, clothes again, he was exhausted. He didn’t protest as Bifur scooped him up, even if he coughed weakly at the jostling.

A handkerchief was pressed into his hand and Bilbo weakly pressed it over his mouth as he continued to cough in a way that wetly ripped through his throat, having him gag a bit. He was settled into the chair and the bucket was held in front of him so he could spit out the mucus, which was just as unpleasant and nasty as when he coughed it out.

He looked up tired and smiled as Ori set the bucket on the ground while Bifur started the fire up. Ori, after a few moments of hesitation, grabbed a quilt off the back of the sofa and settled it over Bilbo’s lap, fingers twitching slightly before he pulled back.

Bilbo smiled and tiredly pat Ori’s wrist as he shivered more, his hand dropping against his lap. A roughly calloused hand ran across his hair and he looked up to see it was Bifur. Bilbo leaned into the comfort Bifur offered without strings attached. “Weren’t you supposed to visit your cousins today?” Bilbo asked, but the words vibrate against his lips and deep in his throat, so he doubts he was understood, but it hurts too much to get in enough air to speak the words to begin with and Bilbo is honestly unsure if he has the strength to repeat himself.

Despite the fact that Bilbo knows he couldn’t have possibly be understood he feels Bifur’s rough hands petting his hair in that way he does to show he understands. Bilbo leans into it slightly and twitches when he feels a knitted hand touch his bare hand, his breath hitching slightly before he opened his eyes to find Ori settling a steaming mug on the table next to him.

Ori then pat Bilbo’s shoulder and left, followed shortly by Bifur, leaving Bilbo alone in his husband’s chambers. He settled further into the chair and found his thoughts returning to their previous occupation, which was being trembling at the thought of Thorin losing his temper and Bilbo being trapped.

He swallowed and clenched the quilt tightly before he remembered the ravens. The aviary, he remembered, had a room behind it, hidden out of the way. If needed, he knew that Bifur would protect him, as he had today (though Bilbo didn’t think Thorin had been in a ‘temper’ today) and…

He had a place to run, if need be, though he hoped he would never need it. With a sigh, he reached out with a shaking hand and picked up his mug, quickly cradling it in both hands.

With a sigh, though it was shaky and thick feeling, he sipped the tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sleepy now. Will answer comments tomorrow.
> 
> Edit: Wow, I was exhausted. Anyway, I signed up for the Hobbit Big Bang. (YAY!!!)
> 
> Anywho....that means that there is, at least, one story on my computer that will get mass posted May 10th - May 24th. Right now it is just one, but it may grow to two, as the first one is completed already so I could keep my commitment!
> 
> I could have probably made a smaller(ish) one that is a prequel of sorts to the second one I am working on, but that's really sad and depressing and I could never get it up to 7,000 words, which is the minimum requirement, so I have the one so far and possibly the two, which needs to be completed by, for me, April 1st, but really only needs to be completed by May 24th.
> 
> So I might be even slower on my updates as I focus on that work.
> 
> (I might start planning next year's Big Bang after this one's is finished though so I can have an epic sitting on my computer to spoil you guys with for two weeks.)
> 
> (P.S. Bilbo and Thorin have been married for almost two months now. So little time.)


	38. Revelation

The tea touched Bilbo’s tongue, coated it, and Bilbo spit it out as he threw his tea cup across the room. He wiped his mouth with his handkerchief before he hacked with enough force to make his rib cage feel like it was about to splinter. He shivered and continued to hack until the newest glob of mucus was forced free, unable to see the room for a few moments as he continued to cough, tears leaking through clenched eyelids. He shivered and coughed more as he tried to figure out what had been the taste.

A poison, to be sure, and was most likely a leaf based poison due to the fact it had been in his tea. It _had_ to be leafy due to the fact that this particular tea, which was a tea that was specially made for Bilbo to help him through this…illness. Bilbo thought it could be helped with some flowers, specifically rose hips, and maybe a few dried berries, but he took it dutifully anyway.

With a great deal of hacking and trembling of limbs, Bilbo carefully got out of his chair. He stumbled and weaved his way to the door and collapsed against it. He winced at the way his head hit it, could even feel the faint vibrations through the wood at that, before he carefully opened the door.

He clung to it as he looked around, starting when his eyes landed on a…page. He leaned against the doorway and waved to the page. The Dwarf, who Bilbo pegged to be just on the cusp of entering those awkward years of tweenhood, hesitated before he unfolded, long hair braided out of his face and beard braided back as well, the white ribbons standing out amongst the brown.

Bilbo motioned again and began to head back inside, surprised when the page immediately rushed to his side to help him to the desk. Bilbo pulled out some cheap paper, ink, and a quill as he covered his mouth with his handkerchief to hack up his lungs again.

He was soon writing out a message to Ori, then another for Bifur, pausing to hack between them both. He then sealed them with the Heir’s Consort’s seal, and wrote who they were for, the whole thing probably taking longer than it should.

When Bilbo first tried to give his instructions, the page nearly leapt back five feet, eyes wide and mouth gaping. Bilbo had to hack a few more times before he managed to order, weakly, “Ori, first,” enough for the page to nod.

Bilbo handed over the letters and the page took off, shutting the door behind him, nearly catching his braid as he ran.

Bilbo got a few minutes of breathing before he began to hack mucus out of his lungs once more.

*~*~*

Bifur looked up from his carving as the page that sat outside of the quarters Bilbo shared with his husband ran up to him, obviously gasping for air. Bifur waited patiently and was surprised when the page handed him a note with Bilbo’s seal on it. Bifur immediately opened it and frowned at the Westron words.

He rubbed his forehead a bit, making sure to miss the axe imbedded there, before he managed to puzzle them out.

A summons?

Bifur nodded once to the page and pat him on the head before he placed a break token in the page’s hand, sending him down to the kitchen as he headed up to the quarters Bilbo shared with his husband.

*~*~*

“I don’t understand why you need this…sir,” the Head of the Kitchens’ right hand Dwarf, Sváli grumbled as he helped Ori find Bilbo’s special blend of tea held within the private Royal Kitchens so it could be delivered quickly to Bilbo.

“That is none of your concern Master Sváli,” Ori responded calmly, if a bit coldly, as he continued to look for it, making sure to peak into each tin quickly before moving on.

The beauty of having Dori as a brother meant he could recognize all teas by scent or sight. He had to learn, since poisons that could be hidden in teas could be used to assassinate someone of importance, so the teas had to remain unlabeled.

So when Ori pulled out the tin with _Heir Consort’s Tea_ written on it in Cirth (or thereabouts), Ori immediately frowned. This was against all protocol, especially when it had to be ingested daily and he carefully cradled it against his chest before he grabbed another.

“I’ve got it. Thank you Master Sváli,” Ori stated as he walked out, about to turn towards Bilbo’s quarters when he hesitated.

While the note, because it had been far too informal to be considered a summons, had requested that Ori bring it straight to Bilbo, Ori wasn’t sure if Bilbo, in his present state, should use this. With a decisive nod, he turned and headed for Dori’s quarters.

Today was Dori’s day off and if anyone would be able to decipher what was in this tea down to the last leaf, it would be Dori.

*~*~*

Dori turned the tin around in his gloved hands, frowning at the fact it was clearly labeled. This was _not_ the proper way to do this, as any teas that were exclusively for someone in any position of power were to remained unlabeled and constantly moved around, known by scent by the Dwarf who prepared the tea.

The fact this tea was labeled was what made Dori upend it across his table, not Ori’s worries. With his hands already gloved in preparation for sorting through the leaves, he immediately began to pick through them while Ori watched.

The courtesan ignored Nori when he slipped through the window, unsurprised by his younger brother’s appearance, considering how Ori had run in here like there was a dragon on his tail. “Why is there…are those calla lily leaves?” Nori questioned and Dori nodded absently.

Nori immediately began to pick out other leaves, without bothering with gloves, and frowned a bit. “Azalea too,” he added and Dori looked up.

“I thought I had been mistaken with that,” Dori stated.

“Why?” Ori asked as Nori shook his head.

“Azalea is fatal and causes various troubles. Calla lily, while causing similar problems, just makes you unable to stand,” Dori explained.

“Someone’s been trying to kill Bilbo?” Ori hissed out and Nori’s head snapped up to look at Ori.

“What?” Nori asked as Dori answered, “Quite.”

“That’s Bilbo’s tea! It was even labeled, that’s why I brought it to Dori! Bilbo asked me to get it for him, and bring it, but I thought it would be best if Dori looked at first, considering people have actually tried to assassinate his clients in this manner before,” Ori explained and Dori looked up at that.

“You mean the tea that was prescribed to him by Óin? The one he’s been taking since he was put on bed rest?” Nori pressed and Ori gave Nori a look while Dori frowned more.

“Yes…how did you know that?” Ori responded as Dori removed the gloves he had been using to pick through the leaves.

“He should be dead,” Dori stated as he stared at the sheer amount of poisonous leaves that were intermingled with the tea leaves.

“He’s a Hobbit, not a Dwarf. They might not be killed by the same things,” Nori argued and Dori raised an eyebrow in his direction, which earned him a shrug from his younger brother.

“Or it takes more. Bilbo…Bilbo has to eat a lot, even in comparison to us,” Ori stated and Dori frowned as he sighed.

“This…this is a problem. And…where was this?” Dori stated, even as Nori began to put the poisonous tea back into the tin.

“The Royal Kitchens,” Ori answered.

Nori popped the lid back on the tin and sighed. “It is a start,” he murmured and put the tea tin into his bag.

“Shouldn’t we take that to Óin? Or Balin? Or somebody?” Ori questioned worriedly and Nori nodded.

“It’ll go to the Spy Master,” Nori stated and Dori nodded in approval.

“That is for the best. This is underhanded dealings,” Dori agreed and Dori noticed Ori’s smile, small and shy, before it disappeared behind a worried frown and a twisting of yarn around his fingers.

Dori knew that Ori preferred it when he and Nori got along, but the pair of older brothers were just too different at times. The fact that they were only getting along because someone Ori was quite attached to (and Dori prayed to Mahal daily that Heir’s Consort Bilbo was as good a person as Ori thought he was) was being poisoned had dimmed his happiness.

When Dori found out who was poisoning him, he was going to rip them limb from limb, literally.

He nodded in return to Nori’s small nod and then climbed back out the window with a wave. “Ori,” Dori called and nearly smiled when he saw Ori jump.

“Go to Óin and order some new tea made. He’d never use these in any tea meant to heal. Go to Heir’s Consort Bilbo after that and explain what went wrong. When the tea is made, bring it to me. I will be in charge of his tea from now on,” Dori stated as he began to pull the table away.

He would need to order a new one, but this was going to be burned.

“Dori…is…is that allowed?” Ori asked hesitantly.

“It is. Even if I am a Courtesan, due to the fact the Heir’s Consort takes care of the Courtesan’s Guild, I am permitted to visit him. And I have so much tea, no one will ever be able to target his tea without accidentally killing some of their coconspirators as well,” Dori responded and Ori nodded.

“Okay Dori, okay,” he answered and he turned to the door, before he hesitated.

“Dori?” Ori asked.

“Yes Nadadith?” Dori responded, surprised when Ori turned to face him.

“Do you think Thorin was ready to get married?” Ori inquired.

“No, I do not. I don’t think either of them were,” Dori responded softly, pausing in the dragging of the table to the back.

Ori nodded slightly as he looked away. “Why do you ask?” Dori asked.

Ori shrugged and bit and then he was gone. Dori huffed and crossed his arms before he focused back on the table.

Burn contaminated table first, worry about Ori later. It was all he could do with his youngest brother already gone.


	39. Not Talking

Bilbo sat on a stool next to the fireplace, shaking as he pressed his back against the stone. From this position he could see a majority of the room, was hidden from all direction, even if someone came through the front door, which he had view of, and he just clutched his handkerchief over his mouth as he mentally prayed for Ori and Bifur to hurry.

Any coughing that started made Bilbo’s heart beat all the harder as cold sweat broke out, terrified that he was going to find someone with a knife coming at him at any moment. He continued to shake and cough until the front door opened, Bifur striding in, his boar spear at the ready.

Bilbo thinks tears are slipping down his cheeks as it catches up, that someone is trying to kill him, and his hand drops from his mouth, the handkerchief beyond saving stained with mucus as it is. He thinks he’s making sound, he can feel vibrations in his throat and behind his nose, but if Bifur can hear it, Bilbo doesn’t know. He can taste the air with each inhale that catches and lodges behind his sternum as he shakes violently, coughs doing little to dislodge that sharp feeling there, only making his throat hurt more.

He feels vibrations through the stone, fast paced and then there is warmth in front of him followed by hands cradling his face. He knows before he opens his eyes that it is Bifur and only does so to confirm that it was him before throwing himself into the protective embrace. He clings and Bifur holds him back as Bilbo clings, trying to come to grips with the fact someone is trying to have him assassinated.

*~*~*

Bilbo turned down the tea Ori offered him as he sat shaking on the couch in the chambers he shared with Thorin. He couldn’t trust any of the tea within his own kitchens now, as he was sure it was common knowledge that Thorin didn’t drink any unless required, and the fact he was in danger within a safe place turned his soul to ice.

Bilbo shuddered and he felt something warm being tucked around his shoulders and he reached up, tucking it under his chin as he began to hack up a lung. He felt someone patting his back with rhythmic thumps, encouraging more mucus to leave his lungs and be spat into the bucket someone gave him. He shuddered at the slimy feeling, leaning into the warmth provided by the two he trusted most in Erebor.

*~*~*

_We don’t tell Thorin._

The order was written with a trembling hand, but Ori didn’t doubt the strength of it. He frowned and grabbed the nearest writing implement to respond, _He needs to know._

_And do what? He can’t keep me locked up. We need to investigate this quietly and, even though I can’t hear him, I know Thorin is anything **but** quiet._

Ori gaped at the answer, trying to think of an argument, but Bilbo was right. They needed to keep this quiet, so no one would suspect they, well the Spymaster, had a strong lead. He huffed and slumped over before he gestured, _“You are right.”_

Bilbo frowned a bit at the gestures before he just gave a shaky smile.

There were traces of his distress still on his face and Ori fetched a clean handkerchief from his inner pocket to wipe Bilbo’s face, ignoring how this was a very Dori move. Bilbo smiled a bit more at that and Ori jumped when a heavy knock echoed through the chambers. He bit his bottom lip before he pressed his handkerchief into Bilbo’s hand and walked over to the door.

Another exhale and he opened the door, surprised to find Lady Dís standing on the other side. “Oh…Lady Dís, what a…pleasant surprise,” Ori greeted, trying to fill the doorway, even though he knew it was hopeless.

Dís would get her way and those who opposed her usually learned pretty quickly why that was a bad idea. “Ori, good. I heard some rumors that Bilbo was doing a bit better?” she inquired and Ori stepped out, closing the door behind him.

“Oh, more or less. Bifur took him out into the sun and that did more good than all of Óin’s tea, so he seems to be on the mend. I think Bifur was planning on taking him out riding on one of the cleared trails. I know Gentleheart has been getting pretty snappy without daily Bilbo visits,” Ori answered, trying not to think about the _fatal_ leaves in the tea.

Dís nodded, a frown making her brow furrow and Ori was pretty sure that she could tell he was hiding something. “That might be for the best. Maybe even just going to go see that pony might make Bilbo feel better as well,” Dís stated and Ori gave her look.

“Lady Dís?” he inquired.

“Thorin is in a mood and coming this way. I don’t think it fair to Bilbo to have to face that, especially as he is just now on the mend. I’ll do my best to calm my brother down, but in the meantime, it might be for the best if he’s not here the moment Thorin enters these chambers,” Dís stated and Ori frowned further, knowing that Bilbo already had and it might be for the best if Bilbo was in the shared chambers.

“I…uh…” Ori began to protest, only for Dís to shake her head.

“Something has him riled and it isn’t fair to Thorin for his husband, who barely knows him, to see him at the worst of his worst. Besides, I’ve been getting threats of quitting if Gentleheart continues to act up like he is,” Dís answered and Ori nodded meekly.

“Yes, your Highness,” Ori responded softly and she nodded sharply before she left.

Ori swallowed and quickly retreated back into the chambers. “Lady Dís has suggested we visit Gentleheart,” Ori stated and Bifur looked over him, Bilbo leaning against him.

“Why?” Bifur grumbled.

“Because Dís doesn’t know that the fact Bilbo went outside is what put Thorin in a mood,” Ori responded, and Bifur frowned before he carefully pulled Bilbo closer.

“I’ll get his warmest coat,” Ori stated and rushed to pull the clothes that would fit the Hobbit from the proper area.

*~*~*

“I do not wish to talk Dís,” Thorin snarled as he marched through the hallways, Dís easily keeping pace.

“Oh, I know that much, but it would be better if you did. What _has_ got you in such a strop anyway?” Dís stated, even when Thorin picked up speed, trying to get away from her.

He should have known better, as all Dís did was hike up her emerald green skirts enough so her boots wouldn’t get caught in the fabric, and kept up. She threw her hair over her shoulder, a trick she had learned when she wished to annoy their father. Thorin had copied that trick as it made the gems and metals braided throughout his hair glitter in the reflected sunlight, drawing attention. It also caused one of Thorin’s (lesser) guards to stumble slightly over their own two feet.

Well, Dwalin would weed him out soon, and Thorin growled a bit as Dís began her questioning once more. “What has you in such a strop?” she continued and Thorin lengthened his strides.

This did nothing to deter Dís, but it was making Dwalin grumble under his breath, now that he had rejoined them. As they reached his chambers, he dismissed the guard and opened the door with more force necessary, already seeing the signs of a hasty departure. He turned around, ready to go scouring the grounds, only to get stopped by Dís. “Is it because Bilbo went outside? Is that what this little temper tantrum of yours is about?” she demanded.

“I don’t remember inviting you in,” Thorin retorted.

“It is! You…you’re going into an over-protective strop, like that time Fíli scraped his knee or that other time when Kíli dislocated his shoulder, and you terrified them out of their skins because they’d never seen that side of you!” she exclaimed and Thorin growled slightly at her accurate description.

“Thorin, you can’t do that! You scare people who aren’t used to you and Bilbo isn’t used to you! Two months of marriage, most of that spent being ill, does not for a marriage make! Let him heal and do it without locking him away in your chambers,” Dís stated and Thorin shook his head.

“He’s a Hobbit, not a Dwarf!” Thorin argued.

“And maybe being _under the ground_ does not help him and _maybe_ keeping him here will do more harm than good!” she snarled back and crossed her arms as she settled back on her heels.

“Now, calm down and let Bilbo heal! I want him to return to his duties so various issues that need his touch can be handled!” she demanded and with a swirl of her skirts, she left.

Thorin seethed for a long time after her exit and was gone before Bilbo returned to their shared chambers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bridging chapter but, good news!
> 
> This part is revving up to wind up!
> 
> So, that means; the second part is about to...become the third part, timeline wise. If I can edit the series properly, that will happen, meaning "Festival" is going to be the third part.
> 
> So...yay!
> 
> And, tomorrow...BIG BANG POSTING BEGINS!!!
> 
> Y'all gonna be spoiled sweet.


	40. Everything's Catching Up

Bilbo sighed as he pulled on his Shire green (Bilbo would have called it grass green, but apparently this shade was what the Dyers' Guild was naming it in honor of Bilbo settling a century old feud, so he didn't argue with it) trousers that flared slightly at the ankles followed shortly by a long sleeved white tunic whose hem came to his knees. Shifting his garments slightly, he tugged at the tunic cuffs, thumb running against the embroidered roses, before he reached up to adjust the collar by touch, not wishing to leave his portion of the closet to look in a mirror.

Thorny vines that matched the green of his trousers ran along the high collar, slowly coming together until he reached the buttons shaped like roses to close the collar around his neck. A few more checks along the collar, making sure it was lying flat, and he then tugged a short sleeved Shire green tunic over the longer, this tunic’s hem going just past his hips, the v-neck showing off…nothing.

Bilbo truly didn’t understand it, instead just focused on tugging everything so it lay properly over his shoulders. With the two layers of cloth settled, he pulled on a mud brown vest with golden vines embroidered all over to help keep the buckles hidden. He frowned over the way he couldn't  _quite_  get the shoulder seams to settle right on his shoulders and sighed.

He had only been on his feet, and able to get dressed without aid for the past week, so he knew he shouldn’t be frustrated over the buckles, but he couldn’t help it. At least it wasn’t as bad as when he was first able to take over his duties, still too tired to do anything strenuous, even with Bifur taking him outside daily and making sure he was able to visit Gentleheart. He closed his eyes, hoping to calm down, and remembering as he pressed his forehead against the gelding’s neck.

Of course, while he calmed down over the clothing, he mourned the fact that the today was the day that marked the fourth month of his marriage, if it could be called that, to Thorin. That, were he in the Shire, this day would be a celebration of the happiness, of the uniting of two people.

He felt his breath pass his lips, but felt no vibration, and he opened his eyes. He would never have what others in the Shire had with Thorin and he should stop hoping for even friendship with the way Thorin stormed about.

Nearly four months and he was counting the days till the year passed, instead of celebrating the marriage. He scoffed slightly as he opened his eyes, wincing as he felt a cough building deep in his chest and he snatched his handkerchief off the table next to the rest of his clothes. He coughed harshly into the cloth, before he tucked it into the pocket of his vest.

He inhaled shakily and went back to easing the vest to lie properly over his shoulders. After a few more minutes of fighting, he gave up and began to tighten the buckles as best as he could, smiling at the way it was meant to all blend together, to make it look like he just pulled it over his head. He already knew that Ori would remove his coat the moment he saw this and fix the vest, and probably everything else, but Bilbo just wanted to get dressed _before_ Thorin was up.

It wouldn’t do for Thorin to wonder why Bilbo was still in the closet, even though the bed was long cold.

*~*~*

Thorin shifted slightly, eyes open only a sliver as he watched Bilbo step out of the closet, tugging his coat slightly as he moved. The fur of a bear killed shortly before their wedding lined it, the hem brushed the tops of his feet. The belt was buckled, but curled around in the back, and it was obvious not everything was lying properly over his shoulders.

In fact, the coat was not lying flat, suggesting that there was more than one thing improperly settled under that coat and Thorin frowned a bit when he realized that only a portion of the bed was warm. The rest was cold and he shifted slightly, though he did not open his eyes further when he saw Bilbo turn to face him.

For a moment, his Hobbit husband stood there, watching him, and then Bilbo was gone, walking quickly out of their shared bedroom. Thorin huffed softly as he slowly sat up and stared at the space left by his husband.

Tomorrow he would wake before his husband, he swore it.

*~*~*

Bilbo settled at the head of the table, eyeing them all. Nori had already ‘mentioned’ that he thought it was one of Bilbo’s Council and the frown that accompanied _that_ piece of information told Bilbo how confused Nori was over that fact.

He glanced over when a red haired Dwarf, hair braided in a loop around his shoulders, set a tray next to him. It was only the fact Bifur stopped the Dwarf on his way out that had Bilbo pouring the tea into a mug, five biscuits becoming four as he pulled the tray closer to him, watching the Heads of the Guilds argue. He would have to speak with Sannhild afterwards to arrange a meeting about one of her Courtesans and he sighed as he began to munch on a biscuit.

He then turned to Ori, who was dutifully writing down the argument (which had to do with spacing in the Mercers’ Guild…again), and Bilbo tapped his shoulder. Leaning against the arm, he said, “Please inform the Head of the Guild and his second in Command of the Mercers’ Guild that any and all discussion of space management is not a discussion for the Council Table and that they should wait for _their_ Guild meetings to discuss such things,” Bilbo ordered and Ori ducked his head slightly before he slowly stood up, Bilbo sitting back up normally to glance over them, sipping his tea slowly.

If he was lucky, he would be out with enough time to spare so he could check on Gentleheart.

*~*~*

Bilbo sighed as he found four biscuits in his pockets, carefully wrapping them in spare handkerchiefs before putting them in his desk. He had a meeting with Sannhild and he had been reassured by the Lady that she would bring the tea, as a Courtesan never drank any tea but their own.

He suspected that she knew something was wrong.

He sighed softly and instead made sure that his office looked presentable, Ori there helping him, Bifur at the door. He was sure that when he returned to the quarters he shared with Thorin this evening, Nori would be waiting, unless Thorin was there before Bilbo, which was starting to happen with increasing frequency as the days pass.

On the bright side, if Bilbo times it right, he can easily camp out on the sofa in front of the banked fireplace and slip into a semi-restful sleep, waking up far too soon. He paused and rubbed his hands over his face, feeling worn out. He twitched a bit when a hand touched his shoulder and he glanced over to find Ori standing there.

He’s frowning a bit and Bilbo just hugs the scribe tight before he releases him and settles at his desk. Just in time, as Bifur glances at the door in a way that tells Bilbo someone knocked. He glances at Ori, who waves him towards the table, which is still half covered with papers, books, and scrolls, all work related.

Bilbo has not read a single thing for pure pleasure since moving to Erebor.

It is almost as exhausting as the lack of sleep.

Settling on a chair, he nods once and Bifur opens the door, Sannhild drifting in, wearing bright reds and pale blues all edged with gold, complementing her tanned skin, Dori dressed in plum behind her, carrying a basket Bilbo is sure holds everything needed for tea.

Bilbo blinks a bit, surprised, before he relaxes and stands. “Sannhild, Dori, welcome,” he greeted, slowly and with knowledge the words were probably very…biting, but his smile feels real.

Sannhild doesn’t hesitate to step forward and grasp him below the elbows, Bilbo doing the same with her. Their heads touch, Sannhild lowering her head so the forehead taps just above his eyebrow.

Guild Master to Consort. They released each other and Bilbo smiled at Dori before he gestured to the table, Sannhild giving a small nod as they took their seats, Dori quickly pulling out the tea set once they were seated.

 _“My dear Consort, how lovely to see you so well after your illness,”_ she gestured and Bilbo smiled brightly.

 _“My Lady Sannhild, thank you for your kind gifts,”_ Bilbo gestured in reply and he felt Ori step up next to him, settling a scroll in front of him.

Bilbo almost asked Ori for a translation, until he noticed the Courtesans’ Guild’s, broken, seal on it. “Thank you,” he managed, or he thought he managed, as he opened the scroll.

Oh, yes, the release for Dori.

He hadn’t realized that it was for Dori, as it just referred to the Courtesan. Ori said that was for the protection of the Courtesan in case someone else got a look at these scrolls. Generally, if it was known a Courtesan wished to retire, they would have to delay their retirement due to overbooking as their popularity would suddenly increase.

Bilbo felt a bit sorry for them over that, but Ori pointed out few left the Courtesans’ Guild, and those who did generally did so because they wished to devote themselves to the, rare, Second Craft.

 _“How does this work? I had wanted to sign it off the moment I got it, but I was told that was not how things were done,”_ he gestured as he rolled the scroll back up.

Sannhild and Dori both stared at him, even as Dori handed him a teacup. Bilbo gave a thankful smile and began to sip some without fear, knowing Courtesan Tea would be untouched.

Not that it mattered. Closer to the peak of health, ‘poisonous’ plants could hardly harm him now, which he wasn’t going to share with anyone, in fear it would become known. What would people do to Hobbits, knowing that they couldn’t be killed by such underhanded means so long as they were healthy?

It was when their health failed them that such methods became dangerous to them.

 _“Generally…well…there needs to be goods exchanged or compensation owed,”_ Sannhild explained and Bilbo felt his shoulders tense, his fingers clutch at his teacup.

His…wedding night, which he liked to not remember. Compensation for that, having to go through _that_ , for a deal and whatever and it was the _Dwarves_ who…

He set the cup down and swallowed harshly. _“I do not see the point of that. If Dori wishes to change Guilds or whatever he desires, he should have it. Unless the Courtesans’ Guild needs compensation?”_ Bilbo responded feelt cold sweat soaking into his collar, breaking out across his forehead.

Sannhild was frowning, painted lips and powder hiding the lines, omitting those between her eyebrows. She stood with deliberately slow movements and crossed over to him. She gently took up his hands and he stared at her. She squeezed his hands once and then carefully placed them back on his lap. _“We would have given you a wonderful First Night, Heir’s Consort Bilbo, formerly of the Shire. We do not need any Compensation. Once the documents are signed, Dori will be officially released after one moon cycle,”_ she gestured and Bilbo merely nodded slightly, feeling his eyebrows furrow and a frown twist his mouth downward.

What in Middle-Earth did _that_ statement mean?

Sannhild smiled gently and then drifted out, Dori pausing only long enough to say the tea, and the tea set, was a gift, before he followed Sannhild out. His lungs were forced to relieve themselves s of their air a few moments later when Ori suddenly just crashed into him, holding him close.

It took a while for Ori to release him so they could return to work, and by then Bilbo was sure that he would only have time to, officially, sign out permission for Dori to change Guilds (as it turns out Dori held a position of power within the Guild, thus why the Consort needed to be involved at all) before he went down to visit Gentleheart.

(He was right.)

*~*~*

Bilbo was tired as he trudged into the shared rooms, thankful to find Thorin already passed out. He stared at Thorin before he retreated to the closet and removed a majority of his layers, leaving only the trousers before he tugged off the fancy tunic, pulling a simple one on instead.

He felt a vibration settle behind his lips before he headed to where spare blankets and pillows were kept, pulling a few out before he headed for the sofa in the receiving room. Anything to get through the night, now that he wasn’t sick anymore and _could_ just remove himself so he could get a few hours, at least, instead of lying there unreasonably paralyzed in fear.

Thorin just…had a temper, though he had never touched Bilbo since the wedding night, to which Bilbo was thankful. He was pretty sure that…

He tried not to think about it. He didn’t _want_ to think about it. It had started out so…nice too and just…

He scrubbed his hands over his face and got under the blankets, snuggling into the pillows. He’d rise with the sun, even if he couldn’t see it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is wondering, there are two plots going on.
> 
> One; Bilbo and Thorin's marriage (which basically grew around)
> 
> Two; the Dwarves attempting to kill Bilbo and their reasoning behind that

**Author's Note:**

> For those rereading, you may have noticed a change in chapters.
> 
> As I was rereading it, I decided to check something and skipped over Chapter 21, a scene I know triggered a few of my readers (for which I am very sorry) and found that the story was still understandable. I have decided to remove the wedding night scene, because I realized it was in connection with the _original_ Chapter 22, which did not have the explanations needed.
> 
> The new Chapter 22, at the time, did not, so I deleted the Chapter.
> 
> Apologies to Ellu, because I was greatly helped at the time, but I realize now it is no longer necessary. My apologies for it.


End file.
